


Real Life

by FrameofMind



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-04
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 09:52:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 87,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/990638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrameofMind/pseuds/FrameofMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin goes to sleep with Meisa…and wakes up with Kame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** Real Life  
>  **Author:** FrameofMind  
>  **Pairing:** Akame  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Genre:** Romance, Drama, Humor, Psychological  
>  **Word Count:** ~85,000 (13 Chapters + Epilogue)  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of fiction. Not to be confused with reality, despite the title.  
>  **Summary:** Jin goes to sleep with Meisa…and wakes up with Kame.  
>  **Author’s Note:** What I thought was a simple idea that would top out around 35,000 words turned out to be slightly more complicated and twice as long... ;)

It’s not working. He’s been pushing at it for four hours, and it’s just not working. No matter how many times he re-voices the chords, plays with the synth, adjusts the lyrics, the whole thing just sounds more and more like the piece of crap he knows it fucking is.  
  
Jin swipes the headphones off of his head and tosses them onto the desk, leaning back in his big stupid studio chair and scrubbing at his face. Four hours on this thing, and he’s no further than he was when he started. He takes in a deep breath through his nose and lets it out again, resisting the urge to ram his heel into the leg of the desk. Sending his laptop and all his peripherals crashing to the floor would not improve his day.  
  
He presses his fingers against the irritating twinge just above his right eye, willing it to go away. Now that the headphones are off, he can hear the faint sounds of construction on the street below. It’s annoying, but less annoying than the song he’s been trying and failing to write, so it’s still better than putting the headphones back on.  
  
He can hear someone moving around in the kitchen—Meisa must be home. He opens his eyes again and frowns at his watch. It’s later than he thought. Stupid fucking song.  
  
He sits up again slowly, glaring at the mess of sliders and soundtracks on the screen. When he hits the button to close the window, he’s half tempted to reject the save, just out of spite—but he dutifully saves the mangled result of an afternoon’s work. Maybe it will sound better in the morning.  
  
When he opens the door from his studio into the living room, he is immediately kneecapped by a small projectile.  
  
“Daddy!” Kana squeals from somewhere between Jin’s thighs, her arms wrapped around his legs with surprising strength.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” he says—and even though his head is still throbbing and the song is still irritating the back of his mind, he smiles as he reaches down to pry her fingers from his jeans. When he snags her underneath the arms and lifts her up to settle at his hip, she beams and latches onto his neck instead.  
  
He blinks when her hair catches in his eyelashes, tries to blow one lopsided pigtail out of his face.  
  
“We played beauty parlor!” Kana announces proudly, pulling back just as suddenly.  
  
Jin surveys the much smaller pigtail on the other side of her head, and the abundance of neon-colored butterfly clips scattered across her hair. “I can see that. You look gorgeous.”  
  
Kana gives him a slightly bashful smile and tucks herself against his shoulder to tell him about Haruka-chan and her new shoes and something involving a firetruck destroying a village, which he very much hopes is referring to some game they were playing with models.  
  
Meisa glances over when they appear in the kitchen doorway, gives him a tight smile before turning her attention back to the stove. He returns a small nod, but by then she’s already working on dinner again.  
  
Jin sets Kana back down on her feet, then puts both of them to work setting the table. Meisa moves aside when he reaches for the glasses from the cupboard over her shoulder. When the rice maker beeps, Jin dishes up three servings and sets them at each of their places. Meisa transfers the fried pork and vegetables into a serving dish and brings that to the table as well. Jin wants a beer, but he knows Meisa doesn’t like him to drink in front of Kana, so he pours them three glasses of ice water instead.  
  
“And we got bars for afternoon snack, but not the good ones, the ones with the nuts in them, so I gave mine to Haruka-chan…”  
  
Jin’s never been sure exactly where Kana inherited her gift for gab from—certainly not from him—but it sure does come in handy for filling in certain silences.  
  
Meisa asks Kana about Haruka’s shoes, because she missed that newsflash the first time, and Kana describes them all over again, with no depletion of enthusiasm. Jin dishes up a portion of pork for Kana, then some for himself. He’s not particularly hungry, but he knows he should eat something anyway. Occasionally he glances as far across the table as Meisa’s hand on her water glass, but he doesn’t look her in the eye. Her smile is genuine now, but it’s for Kana.  
  
It’s an old argument. Not even an argument anymore, really—just a fact of life. He knows she’s tired. He gets that. When she’s not filming, she always makes time to take care of Kana during the day, and she would really prefer it if Jin could do the same during periods when she’s tied up—she doesn’t like Kana spending so much time in daycare. Jin tried it a few times, but it was just impossible—he loves hanging out with her, but he can’t get any work done when she’s around. If he tries to work in the living room he can’t concentrate, and it’s not safe for him to hole up in his studio with his headphones on when she’s running around the apartment getting into things. He’s home, but that doesn’t mean he’s available. She gets that too. Mostly.  
  
So, daycare.  
  
It’ll be better again when the drama’s finished. Meisa gets stressed when her schedule is heavy, but it helps that she usually gets a month or two of downtime afterwards, before the next project comes along. Of course, that also means the two of them spending a lot of time here at home together, which isn’t always the best thing for them either. But that’s its own problem. They manage. It’s fine.  
  
Anyway, he’ll be back in the recording studio again before too long. If he ever finishes writing the fucking album.  
  
He takes a long sip of water to cover his scowl as he recalls the wasted afternoon. For a moment he considers venting to Meisa, but that moment doesn’t last long.  
  
“But I didn’t want to, so I went over to the art corner instead,” Kana explains as she shovels in another small mouthful of rice with her thick chopsticks. She’s getting pretty good with them, actually. If her fine motor skills develop anything like her verbal skills, she’ll be a prodigy in no time. Maybe Jin can teach her to play the guitar someday, when her hands are big enough.  
  
When Meisa begins cleaning up the remains of their dinner, Jin takes it as his cue to get Kana ready for bed. He washes her hair, finds her fresh pajamas, monitors as she brushes her teeth. When she crawls into bed, she asks him to sing her something to make her fall asleep, and he thinks again of the afternoon’s train wreck, but quickly shoves that aside. He sings an old folk melody instead, something his mother used to sing when she was hanging out the laundry. Something with no synth, no chords, and no fumbled guitar riffs.  
  
When he closes the door silently behind him and steps back out into the living room, things are much quieter than they were before. He feels his headache coming back.  
  
Meisa is still in the kitchen. The dishes are done, but she’s still puttering around, sorting through the mail, cleaning off the counters. Jin notices she’s left his plate and teacup from lunch in the sink—a gentle reminder.  
  
He slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and leans against the doorframe gingerly, feeling a bit like he’s intruding. Which is dumb, of course. It’s his house too.  
  
“How was your day?”  
  
Meisa’s lips press together briefly at the sound of his voice. She glances up from a credit card bill, almost meets his eyes before returning her attention to the mail. “Fine,” she says. There’s no reproach, but no invitation to further conversation either. She folds the bill back up and shuffles it to the bottom of the stack, sliding a finger beneath the flap of the next envelope.  
  
Jin nods, runs a hand through his hair. Yeah, okay. He gets it.  
  
“I was thinking I might turn on the TV,” he says then, shrugging a shoulder toward the living room behind him. “Do you mind?”  
  
Meisa shakes her head, engrossed in some letter on pretty blue stationery. “I’ll probably be going to bed soon,” she says. “Just keep the volume low, will you? I don’t want to disturb Kana.”  
  
Jin purses his lips against the urge to point out that of  _course_  he knows that, he was the one who put her to bed. But that would be neither helpful nor productive, so he lets it go. No point in picking a fight.  
  
So he stretches out on the couch, one hand scrunched underneath the throw pillow under his head, the other with the remote resting on his hip. He watches half an episode of some Oguri Shun drama about an ex-con masquerading as an ice cream man, then starts flipping channels slowly, looking for something else to catch his interest. He watches sports for a bit, but gets bored when they switch from covering preparations for the next World Cup to highlights from some important game between the Giants and the Lions last season. Eventually he ends up watching a jidaigeki about Okita Souji.  
  
When he notices that somehow the characters have traded their Bakumatsu-era kimono for jeans and t-shirts, he realizes he must have drifted off at some point. He pushes himself up to sit, blinking a bit heavily and trying to focus on his watch in the dim light from the television—it’s almost midnight.  
  
He switches the TV off and pushes himself to his feet, trying not to bruise his shins on any of the furniture as he crosses the apartment, slips quietly into their bedroom. He pulls his shirt off over his head and tugs on a soft, slightly holey t-shirt in its place, then wriggles out of his jeans and folds them over the side of the hamper. He’s careful not to disturb the mattress too much when he slides under the covers, settles himself on his stomach with his arms curled up underneath the pillow.  
  
Meisa is snoring lightly beside him, facing away from him and conscientiously confined to her side of the bed. Jin glances over at her, just making out the curve of her shoulder where it peeks out from under the covers.  
  
They haven’t had sex in more than six months. He hasn’t exactly been counting, and doesn’t exactly remember when the last time was, but he knows it was sometime around spring. Even before that, for a while it had just felt like a chore sometimes—another thing they had to check off the list. He didn’t even notice when they stopped bothering altogether. It just sort of happened—one week it fell off the list, and it never got put back on again. They’re busy, and things get rushed and stressful, and some days they barely cross paths long enough to say two words to each other, so he never really felt the lack. Only lately has he started to notice again—started to wonder if this is really just a natural consequence of two careers and a kid, or if maybe it’s something he should do something about.  
  
But then the next question is “what?”, and that puts him back at square one again. So he just crosses off another month in his mental calendar and resolves to figure it out some other time. When things settle down again. Get back to normal.  
  
Jin twists against the covers, shifting to face the other direction without kicking Meisa or making the mattress bounce too much. His head is still throbbing a bit, but it’s better when he closes his eyes. He scrunches up the pillow underneath him and presses his cheek a little deeper into it, trying to relax his brain and all the muscles around it. It’ll be better in the morning.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Everything hurts.  
  
There’s light somewhere, everywhere. He can’t see it, but he can feel it, beating down on him like the sun in the desert, except without the warmth. His breath feels heavy, his head pounding, his blood thick in his veins, sluggish. The only point of warmth is a hand. A pair of hands, enclosing his.  
  
“Cold…”  
  
It takes a moment before he realizes it’s his voice, feels his throat move after the fact. Everything hurts, but somehow from a distance. There’s something between him and the pain, between him and his mind. It’s so hard to think. There’s too much light.  
  
He blinks against it, but even when it’s dark he can still feel it. The shapes around him are fuzzy, only gradually coming into focus. He winces when something lumpy is spread over him, someone tucking him in right up to his chin. The hands around his have tightened a little, and he hears voices, but he can’t make out what they’re saying.  
  
Something’s happened. Something bad.  
  
“Jin?”  
  
The voice is firm, worried, somehow familiar, the first clear thing to reach him and he grabs onto it, tries to pull himself out of the confusion.  
  
“Jin, can you hear me? Are you awake?”  
  
An accident. Something bad happened. He squeezes the hand holding his, and the hand squeezes back. He blinks his eyes open again, tries to focus.  
  
Kame’s hair is dark. Much darker than it was when Jin last saw him. But then that must have been five years ago, at least.  
  
“Jin?”  
  
Jin blinks at him. His mind still feels like molasses. Kame’s eyes are dark and intent, a tiny crease of worry between his perfect brows. He looks paler than the last time Jin saw him too, but maybe that’s just because of the hair. Kame squeezes his hand again, and Jin wonders why.  
  
Something bad happened.  
  
“Where’s Meisa?” he manages. His voice is scratchy and his throat hurts, scraped raw like he’s just finished a double-header on stage at the Tokyo Dome.  
  
Kame blinks, stills, the slight frown increasing. “She’s not here…”  
  
Jin’s blood stalls, and his mind turns over again. Something bad. Kame’s here. Meisa’s not here and Kame’s here. Why is Kame here?  
  
“Where is she?” he mumbles, gripping Kame’s hand. “Who has Kana? Is she okay?”  
  
“I’m sure she’s fine, Jin—calm down,” Kame soothes, though the worry in his eyes doesn’t flicker. He presses a hand to Jin’s chest and Jin settles against the slope of the hospital bed again. Everything hurts. There are tubes in his arm, the one Kame isn’t holding, and something wrapped around his head, and everything hurts.  
  
“You’re the one we’re worried about right now,” Kame says. “Are you okay? Can you see alright? Is there anything I can get you?”  
  
Meisa’s fine. Kame says she’s fine.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
Kame swallows, squeezes his hand again. “You had an accident. Don’t you remember?”  
  
No. He doesn’t. The last thing he remembers is putting Kana to bed. But then, even that…something about it flickers. He remembers the smell of the shampoo and the sound of her voice…but he can’t quite conjure her face. He should remember. Shouldn’t he? He should remember something like that. His own…  
  
What happened?  
  
“I don’t remember,” he says, trying to get a handle on his panic. “There was something, Meisa was…” But something about that flickers too, doesn’t fit. Doesn’t seem real anymore, in the light. But there’s nothing else, he doesn’t remember anything else. There’s only Kame, he knows Kame, but he doesn’t know why…  
  
“What about Meisa?” Kame says, and he looks like he’s searching for clues just like Jin. Like he doesn’t know what’s going on any better than Jin does.  
  
But he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing he remembers makes sense anymore.  
  
“Do you remember the concert?” Kame asks gently.  
  
Jin blinks a little, tries to make it ring a bell. The last concert he gave was…he’s not even sure when it was. It’s fuzzy, just like everything else. He shakes his head slowly, wincing when it gives a dull throb.  
  
Kame nods as if this, at least, isn’t unexpected. “There was a problem with the safety equipment,” he explains, and Jin feels Kame’s thumb stroking over bruised knuckles. “You had a fall, and you hit your head. There were some internal injuries and you had to have surgery, but the doctor says you haven’t broken anything other than a couple of ribs. You’ve been asleep for three days.”  
  
His voice breaks a little as he says this last, and Jin wonders how long Kame has been at the hospital. How long he kept sleeping past the time when he was supposed to wake up.  
  
Why is Kame here?  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
Kame flinches, but he tries not to let it show. After a moment he puts on a smile, only slightly strained, and resumes stroking Jin’s knuckles. “I wanted to be here when you woke up,” Kame says quietly.  
  
A door opens somewhere out of sight behind Kame, and Kame glances around just as a doctor appears from beyond the privacy curtain, crossing to Jin’s other side.  
  
“Well well, you’re finally awake,” the man says as he inspects a readout on the machine parked near Jin’s bedside and compares it with something on his chart. The doctor’s smile is warm and comforting, yet distant, and Jin feels strangely relieved to know that this man is definitely a stranger, and he’s not supposed to know who he is or how he got here.  
  
“Good,” the doctor mutters, flipping to another page and nodding, making a note of something with his pen. “Good. This all looks very good. How are you feeling, Akanishi-san?”  
  
“I’m…okay, I think,” Jin says. It’s not exactly true in the grand scheme of things, but he doesn’t feel dead, so that’s something. “My head hurts. And, sort of…everywhere is sore. And I’m having trouble remembering things, I think.”  
  
The doctor nods along with him, frowning in concentration, glancing over at Kame for confirmation. Kame is still holding his hand, didn’t even think to let go when the doctor came in. The doctor doesn’t seem to find it strange.  
  
“I see,” he says, and makes another little note in his chart. “Well, it’s not at all uncommon to experience some disorientation and memory loss as a result of a head injury. In many cases the effects are temporary. We’ll be running a series of tests to make sure there are no lingering complications from the surgery, and we’ll also screen you for any mental side effects. For now though, please try not to worry too much. Kamenashi-san, if I may speak to you outside for a moment?”  
  
Kame nods, and Jin catches a flicker of his grim expression before he stretches an unconvincing smile back onto his face. He gives Jin’s hand one last squeeze before setting it down carefully on top of the blankets. “I won’t be long, okay? I’ll be back.”  
  
Jin nods, watches as Kame follows the doctor back out of the unseen doorway, leaving him in the empty hospital room with only the quiet hum of machinery for company.  
  
Jin’s fingers curl on the blankets, and he lifts his hand a little, staring down at the place where Kame’s warmth can still be felt. Suddenly, without that anchor, the hazy white blankness stretching out behind him is a little bit terrifying. He tries to pull at the few frayed threads of memory he has, but everything just unravels the moment he touches them. A concert he doesn’t remember. Kame, here waiting with him, because he wanted to be here when Jin woke up. Meisa and Kana, but Meisa is…he hasn’t seen her since…he doesn’t know when he’s seen her, and Kana…he can’t even remember her face. Just an echo of laughter, water splashing in the bath, and even that is just an empty impression, with no wetness or warmth. Like a dream.  
  
His head starts to throb again, and Jin closes his eyes, tries to calm his heavy heartbeat as it thuds against aching ribs. He’s tired and everything hurts, but he’s too afraid to fall asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s Wednesday October 11, 2017. The doctor gave him a calendar and a marker to help him keep track, said that sometimes helps people stay grounded when they’re in this kind of situation. Jin crossed off the day with a big blue X.  
  
He still doesn’t remember anything.  
  
The doctor’s tests determined that he had full sensitivity and muscle control in all of his extremities, which was a relief. They also determined that he was healing well from the surgery and that he wasn’t showing signs of developing any blood clots or other physical complications. The wound just above his right eye—where he hit the scaffolding on the way down—is a nasty one, but the doctor assures him that with proper care it should leave only the faintest scar. He was lucky not to have fractured his skull in addition to the concussion.  
  
It’s also not strictly true that he doesn’t remember  _anything_. Upon methodical questioning, Jin discovered that he could recall his parents’ faces, and their names. He could recall the house in which he’d grown up, his first school, his first pet. He recalled being hired by JE when he was fourteen, being assigned to KAT-TUN when he was seventeen, debuting professionally when he was twenty-one. But then, sometime after that, the white haze thickened and it all became a blur of blankness.  
  
He can feel the time that’s passed, the distance from his childhood—there’s just nothing to fill it. He feels like he’s been away somewhere for a long time and he’s forgotten to bring any photographs back from the journey.  
  
He stares at the calendar and the big blue X. The empty squares stretching out beside it in both directions.  
  
There’s a knock at the door, and Jin looks up, though he still can’t see who it is because of the privacy curtain. “Come in,” he calls.  
  
He hears the door open and close, and then Kame steps into view. He gives Jin a little smile, hovering at the edge of the curtain with his hands in his back pockets. Jin’s not sure why, but Kame seems different than he was a couple of hours ago. Concerned still, but not quite so anxious. A little awkward, a little uncertain, a little resigned.  
  
“Hi,” Kame says. “Is it alright if I sit with you?”  
  
Jin frowns a bit—Kame didn’t seem to have any reservations about sitting with him before—but he nods and gestures toward the chair Kame was occupying earlier.  
  
Kame nods his thanks and perches himself on the edge of the chair, sitting up straight. He keeps his hands on his knees.  
  
“So…” Jin says, when Kame doesn’t seem to know where to start. “Apparently I have amnesia. Who knew that was a real thing?” He tries a smile, hoping it will lighten the mood. Kame tries to return it, but he seems even more uncomfortable than before. Not quite what Jin was going for.  
  
“I know,” he says. “The doctor told me.”  
  
Jin nods, even as this piques his curiosity. Not that he minds Kame knowing, but what ever happened to doctor-patient confidentiality?  
  
“Yeah, well,” Jin continues, setting that question aside for the moment, “other than that, he says I’m healing pretty well. They want to keep me overnight for observation, but if nothing else comes up he says I can go home tomorrow. Too bad I don’t know where ‘home’ is.”  
  
He’s surprised when Kame flinches at that, but Kame doesn’t even seem to notice. He’s avoiding Jin’s gaze, apparently only half listening while debating something internally.  
  
“Kame?” Jin says.  
  
Kame looks up, like he’s wondering if he’s missed something. Then he realizes all he missed was his turn to speak. “Sorry,” he says. “I was distracted.”  
  
“That’s okay. Is something wrong?”  
  
Kame gives a little laugh, though it doesn’t exactly sound like he’s getting on board with Jin’s lighten-the-mood plan. “Yes and no,” he replies. And then he seems to feel bad for playing word games with the amnesia patient and starts over. “I mean, not really, nothing more than you already know, it’s just—well. There’s something else you should know.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Kame takes a deep breath, straightens a little. He looks calm, but Jin can tell he’s steeling himself for something difficult. “You live with me.”  
  
Jin blinks. Not quite the revelation he was expecting, though surprising all the same. “I do? Since when?”  
  
“About four years now. But…we’ve been together longer than that.”  
  
Jin peers at him, trying to figure out what he’s getting at. Jin knows that, he remembers that much—they’ve been friends since they were kids, working together for more than fifteen years now, if the calendar’s right. He notices Kame fidgeting with one of the rings on his left hand. It’s not unusual for Kame to wear rings, but this one is plainer than his usual taste, just a simple silver band around his third finger. It takes Jin a moment to realize it’s not just one of the rings on his hand—it’s the  _only_  ring on his hand.  
  
And he’s been living at the hospital for three days in the same jeans and t-shirt, and his hair is all flat and undone, and he looks like hell, and he was holding Jin’s hand, and they live together, and they’ve  _been together_ , and he wanted to be here when Jin woke up.  
  
Jin glances up at Kame. He opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say.  
  
“Oh…”  
  
“Sorry,” Kame says, and even Jin knows it’s a crazy thing to apologize for. He’s only telling him the truth. It’s not Kame’s fault Jin can’t remember. It’s not Kame’s fault that from Jin’s perspective, none of this makes any sense.  
  
“It’s okay, don’t—I mean…I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t remember.”  
  
Kame shakes his head quickly, and he looks a little relieved, maybe that Jin’s not freaking out. Not on the outside anyway. “It’s not your fault. I know it’s weird to hear something like that when you can’t remember.”  
  
“No, it’s fine, I’m…I’m glad you told me.” Which is also stupid, because what was he going to do? Buy Jin another apartment and pretend they weren’t… Jin  _lives_  with Kame. The subject was bound to come up.  
  
“Of course,” Kame says. “Um, anyway, about tomorrow—the doctor wants me to come by at ten so he can meet with me again and give me a few instructions, and after that if there are no problems I’ll be able to take you…home. I mean, back to the apartment. And, I was thinking…if you want, I could move out for a few days, stay with a friend. Just, if you feel strange about—”  
  
“No!” Jin says, surprising them both. But even apart from his knee-jerk terror at the idea of being left alone with the blankness to recuperate in an apartment he doesn’t remember, he knows the idea itself is silly. “No, that’s stupid—I’m not going to kick you out of your own house just because I don’t…I mean…it’s stupid. You should stay. We’ll figure it out.”  
  
Kame lets out a little breath, and something approaching a real smile peaks through, if only in relief. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, if you’re sure.”  
  
“I’m sure. Anyway, I nearly killed myself falling off a stage—who knows what I’ll do if you leave me alone with an unfamiliar toaster.”  
  
The smile flickers again, and Jin feels a little bit better already. This is weird enough without Kame perching himself nervously on the edge of that chair, like he’s afraid it’s going to eat him if he lets his guard down.  
  
He  _lives_  with Kame. This is really weird.  
  
“Yeah, good point,” Kame agrees. “I guess there really should be someone there to keep an eye on you. Fend off any rogue appliances.” Then he gets a bit nervous again. “Um…do you want me to stay here tonight?”  
  
Although Jin isn’t exactly looking forward to being alone with his thoughts for the next several hours, all it takes is one look at Kame to know this guy should not spend another night sleeping in a rolling chair. “No,” he says, trying to find a balance between firmness and kindness. “Thanks, but—you look like you’ve had an even worse three days than I have, and I’m the one who’s stitched up like Frankenstein. Go home and get some sleep—I’ll still be here when you get back tomorrow.”  
  
For a moment something flits across Kame’s face, like he somehow worries that might not be true—but it passes, and Jin’s right, and he knows it, and he’s grateful. Kame digs around in his back pocket, pulls out a little scrap of paper, some street flyer he was too polite to refuse, and turns it over to the blank back side. He glances around for a moment before locating a pen in one of the plastic wall units for holding medical charts and scribbles down a phone number.  
  
“This is my cell,” he says, handing it to Jin. He presses his lips together ruefully as Jin takes it and looks it over. “Call me if you need anything. Anytime, seriously—I’ll answer.”  
  
For a moment Jin imagines shuffling down to the public phone in the hallway in his hospital gown and calling Kame at three o’clock in the morning just to tell him he’s still not dead and he still can’t remember anything. “I will,” he says, closing his fingers around the number—and it does make him feel better somehow, even if he knows he won’t use it. “Thanks.”  
  
Kame nods and gets to his feet. Then he looks at Jin for a long moment, hands carefully in his back pockets, like he’s not quite sure what he’s supposed to do. He looks dead on his feet, but he doesn’t seem to be able to muster the will to leave.  
  
Jin tries a reassuring smile. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Go on, get out of here, before they mistake you for a corpse and you wind up locked in a drawer in the morgue.”  
  
Kame smiles a little and it seems more genuine than the ones before it, but also somehow wistful. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jin grins.  
  
Kame nods one final time and turns away, his footsteps weaving a bit, like he’s trying not to get anywhere too fast. Or maybe like his equilibrium is a little bit off from exhaustion. Jin watches him until he disappears around the edge of the curtain. Hears the door creak open, and then slowly fall shut again. He listens to Kame’s retreating footsteps in the hall for as long as possible, until all that’s left is the quiet hum of machinery again, punctuated by the occasional beep. He glances down at the scribbled handwriting on the paper in his hand. It is familiar. Not the numbers, but the shape of them, Kame’s untidy scrawl.  
  
He doesn’t have anywhere to put it—no pockets in these gowns, predictably—so he just keeps it in his hand, curls his fingers around it. To remind him he has someone to call if something goes beep in the night, even though he knows that’s silly. Because what’s Kame going to do to save him from the beep-monster? But the closed fist around the phone number keeps his hand warm anyway, and that’s something at least.  
  
It’s okay. It’ll be okay. They’ll figure it out. The doctor said this happens, it’s not unusual. He’ll remember stuff, eventually, and it won’t be so scary. The fog will clear. It will all look better in the morning.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Jin fumbles for the paper as he slips toward consciousness. His palm is sweating under the covers, his breath hot against his face where it’s mashed into the pillow, and it was right there, where is it, it’s melted…  
  
He blinks. And almost immediately he regrets it. The bedroom is dim, only a few midday sunbeams slipping past the curtains, but it still makes his eyes hurt. The headache is back. Probably even worse than before, after breathing through only one nostril all night, the rest of his face practically smothered against the pillow.  
  
Meisa’s side of the mattress is empty, cool. Looks like it’s been made and then tugged out of place again by his tossing and turning. He hopes he didn’t keep her up too much.  
  
He shifts around to rest less awkwardly on his stomach, wincing and squirming as the circulation returns to his arm suddenly in a flood of pinpricks. He blinks a few more times and squints at the blue numbers on the digital alarm clock on his nightstand. 11:28. Meisa’s must have gone off hours ago, but he didn’t even hear it.  
  
A blue X on a calendar, and something about a white mist. He pulls his right hand up from underneath the covers and quirks a quizzical eyebrow at his palm, pulling at the fading impressions one by one. A phone number, and Kame was holding his hand. Something about a hospital.  
  
Kame?  
  
Weird dream.  
  
He pushes his arms up underneath his pillow and stretches out, burying his face again. Closes his eyes. He can doze a little while longer. It’s quiet.  
  
It was too quiet. In the dream, he didn’t like the quiet.  
  
His eyes open again, and he tries to shake off the feeling, but it won’t go. When he looks at the clock again, it’s 12:15. He doesn’t feel like he’s slept any more, just stared into the mattress thinking about quiet.  
  
Okay, enough of that.  
  
By the time he’s up and showered and dressed it’s nearly one o’clock, so he opts for a light brunch of leftover onigiri and potato chips, which he eats at his desk with a cup of coffee. At his headache’s insistence, he avoids the stupid fucking song from yesterday and pulls up the lead sheet for a soft acoustic number he’s been tinkering with for a while. He’s not sure whether it really belongs on this album or not, but at least if anyone asks it still qualifies as working. And it might fit on this album, if he can come up with one or two others a bit like it, so it doesn’t stick out so much.  
  
He settles back in his chair with the guitar and the lead sheets on the screen and starts lazily plucking out the chords. Sometimes he hums the melody, but sometimes he just listens for errors in the voicing or places where he can add a little flourish. It takes more time to produce a much less finished sound this way, but there’s something easy about it too. It’s relaxing. Even his headache starts to go away after a while.  
  
At five o’clock, his phone alarm goes off, and he swears. His turn, right. Good thing he set the alarm or he would’ve forgotten, and  _that_  would not have gone over well. He puts the guitar away and hurries into the bedroom to change his shirt because this one’s got a couple of grease marks on it from the potato chip crumbs. He pulls on a sweatshirt and jams a baseball cap on his head, grabs his sunglasses, keys, and wallet from the dresser, and steps into his sneakers on the way out the door.  
  
It’s not that far to walk. The weather is just starting to turn, enough that he’s glad he remembered the sweatshirt and sort of wishes he’d grabbed a jacket too, but he’s okay. A couple of girls in sailor suits walking toward him on the sidewalk gasp and nearly fall into the bushes when they notice him, and he hears their muffled squeaks and the fake shutter noises on their iPhones following him down the rest of the block. He rounds the corner onto a slightly busier road and tugs his hood up over the back of his cap, hunkering down a bit partly to be less conspicuous, but mostly to shield himself from the chilly slipstreams of passing cars.  
  
He turns off again onto another smaller road, but it’s only a few steps to the tiny lane beyond that, bending and curving between buildings and trees until it opens up to his right on the front yard of the daycare. The gate is unlocked and the playground is unoccupied—he flips the latch and crosses the grounds, ducking through the main entrance.  
  
Once inside, he pushes the hood off his head and removes his sunglasses. Machida-san is used to seeing him in “low-profile mode” by now, but he sometimes gets nervous looks from the other parents—the ones who don’t also have teenagers, at least. And somehow it just feels wrong to walk into a room full of small children dressed like an off-duty bank robber.  
  
“Good afternoon, Akanishi-san,” Machida greets him with a smile and a small bow. “Are you here for—”  
  
“Daddy!”  
  
This time at least he sees her coming. He winces as she nearly knocks over one of the smaller children in her mad-dash across the playroom, but bends down and scoops her up on her own momentum as soon as she reaches him. He exchanges a little smile and nod with Machida as she goes back to mediating an argument over one of the coloring books.  
  
“Hey there, kiddo,” he grins, resettling Kana against his hip. “Any exciting new developments on the shoe-purchasing front?”  
  
“They gave us the good bars for snack today and I found three cars in the sandbox and there was juice too but not the kind I like and I played with the turtle!”  
  
Jin blinks and just about trips over a wooden block on the floor near his feet. “You played with  _who_?”  
  
Kana swings around without warning to point across the room, and Jin has to readjust his hold on her to make sure she doesn’t throw them both off balance.  
  
“Hayai-san,” she says, and he follows her pointing finger to a small terrarium on the counter by the windows. “He’s new.”  
  
Ah. Right. Hayai-san. That’s who he thought she meant.  
  
They pause in the front hallway to find Kana’s shoes and tuck her into her jacket, and then Jin hoists her up again, this time to his shoulders, since at least that lets him stand up straight. He puts the sunglasses back on as they step out from under the eaves, but his hood is trapped for the moment. Doesn’t really matter though—with his little chatterbox tucked against the back of his head, fingers plucking at the dark hair curling from underneath his baseball cap, he doubts he’s really the more conspicuous of the two of them.  
  
When they get past the busy street and back onto the wide, sloping lane that leads to their apartment building, he feels her getting fidgety and starting to dig her heels into his ribs absentmindedly, so he shifts her down to walk on her own two feet for a while, placing himself between her and the traffic. He has to slump a little to hold her hand comfortably, but she holds on obediently as she tells him all about the argument she had with Haruka-chan that morning. Apparently one day of talking constantly about her new shoes was socially acceptable, but two days was crossing the line.  
  
Jin makes them omerice for dinner, because it’s one of Kana’s favorites, and it’s also one of the only things he’s mastered that Meisa isn’t as good at. Something about the eggs—she makes them too fluffy. After he’s cleared away their plates and washed the ketchup out of Kana’s bangs, they hang out in the living room for a while playing a board game, which Jin tells himself he’s letting her win on purpose. Then it’s bath time again, with an extra shampoo just in case he missed any ketchup residue with the first wash.  
  
“Song or story?” he offers as she wiggles down underneath the covers.  
  
She frowns up at the little glow-in-the-dark star stickers that dot her ceiling, not quite glowing in all their glory yet because the bedside lamp is still turned on. “Story,” she says finally, with a definitive little nod. “Something  _new_.”  
  
He nods as well, slowly settling himself on his knees beside the bed, elbows resting on the edge of the mattress. Something new, huh? Well there goes his Little Mermaid plan. They’ve been through most of Grimm in one form or another, and he knows he’s exhausted his knowledge of the Japanese folk canon—he didn’t even like those stories when he was a kid. Too boring. Which he knows is the point when you’re using them for bedtime stories, but still, who wants to be the dad who tells boring bedtime stories?  
  
“Once upon a time,” he begins, because that’s how you begin even when you don’t know where you’re going, and how hard can this be? He writes stuff for a living. Not fairytales, but at least these don’t have synth mixes. “There was…a turtle.”  
  
Kana smiles and shifts over onto her side, snuggling a little deeper into her pillow with her fists curled up by her chin. She’s adorable. He wants to pat her on the head just because. “A turtle?” she prompts.  
  
“Yeah.” And he’s only half listening to himself now, but it’s not like he doesn’t have an idea of where he’s going with this anymore either. “This turtle liked to work really hard every single day, all year round. Even if he didn’t need to, even if everything would be fine if he just took a break every once in a while, he still liked to work.  
  
“Anyway, this turtle had a friend who was…a rabbit. The rabbit liked to work too, and he was really awesome at it. Even better than the turtle. He was  _way_ better than the turtle. But he didn’t like to work all the time—sometimes he liked to sleep too. Or play board games. Or watch television. Even during regular business hours. And sometimes he liked to do his work late at night, when the turtle really thought he should be asleep so he could be fresh and ready for rehearsals in the morning.  
  
“One day, the rabbit got a really great offer from a big producer who lived far away on the other side of the ocean, and he decided he wanted to accept it. The turtle didn’t like that very much because he knew it meant the rabbit would be away for a long time, and it would mess up his schedule. And even though the turtle was  _always_  moving things around to suit his own plans, he still thought the rabbit should turn down the offer, because he didn’t think it would go anywhere anyway and it wasn’t worth risking the harmony of the…ecosystem. The turtle and the rabbit had a big fight about it, and in the end the turtle told him that he should take the job if he wanted to, but if he left, he shouldn’t come back. So the rabbit left. And he didn’t come back.”  
  
Jin catches himself staring at the bookshelf built into the wall opposite. When he glances down at Kana, he finds that her adorable little smile has melted into a rather distraught expression.  
  
Okay, so maybe not such a good idea to write creative nonfiction bedtime stories off the top of his head. Note to self.  
  
“Uh…but it was all okay though, eventually. The rabbit came back to…the forest after a year or so, and he found a rabbit wife and they had a little baby rabbit and he got to sleep  _almost_  as much as he wanted after the baby rabbit was potty-trained, and everything was perfect and they lived happily ever after.”  
  
Kana blinks at him, the little crease between her brows still too deep for comfort. “But what about the turtle?”  
  
Jin stares back at her, caught. “The turtle was fine too,” he says lamely. “He…still had his work.”  
  
“But didn’t he find a turtle wife and have turtle babies too?”  
  
“I…don’t know. I’ve never asked—I mean…I’m…not sure he really wanted…that.”  
  
“But he can’t be  _alone_ ,” Kana says, as if this much ought to be obvious. “Nobody lives happily ever after  _alone_.”  
  
Jin feels the fingers of his right hand curling into his palm, and for a moment he remembers it clearly, even though it’s just a sliver, just a fragment of nothing. That piece of paper in his hand, like a lifeline in the quiet.  
  
“I guess not,” he admits. His headache is coming back.  
  
“So what happens then?”  
  
Jin shakes off the weird feeling, promises himself a couple of aspirin and a beer when he’s through. “That’s the sequel,” he says with a grin.  
  
She groans, but it turns into a giggle when he leans over and kisses her on the forehead, his long hair tickling her nose.  
  
“Goodnight, kiddo,” he says as he stands in the doorway, watching her roll over and smush her face into the pillow. Meisa thinks it’s weird, used to ask him jokingly if he ever worried about suffocating himself sleeping like that, but he thinks it’s just logical. Stomach is comfortable—face is most comfortable aligned with stomach—face gets smushed into pillow. Therefore, face smushed into pillow is comfortable. The occasional breathing difficulty is just a necessary evil.  
  
“Goodnight, Daddy,” she mumbles back through six inches of cotton batting. He flicks off the light, and the stars glow green over her lumpy form.  
  
Meisa gets in around eleven-thirty, fixes herself a late supper. She asks Jin about Kana—what she said about daycare, whether he checked the spread of the rash on her inner elbow and remembered to put the cream on it after bath time. They talk through the schedule for next week as well, just to make sure they both have it straight and nothing falls through the cracks. She doesn’t tell him how filming went, and she doesn’t ask him about the album. They sit together at opposite ends of the couch for a while after she’s finished her meal, watching a late-night repeat of one of those eating shows where the celebrity guests have to identify the most expensive dishes on the menu. Either that, or they’re trying to decide on appropriate prices for new dishes on the restaurant menu. There’s food, a menu, and numbers involved. Jin loses track from time to time.  
  
Meisa goes to bed first, and he hangs back a little while. It’s always more awkward when they try to go to bed at the same time, because then they’re both awake for a little while and they both know it, and it feels strange for a bit like it never did in the beginning. Like they should have something to say to each other when they don’t. It’s just quiet. So Jin stays up and watches a bit of a detective drama he’s seen before, and then when he’s pretty sure she can at least pretend to be asleep if she wants to, he goes to bed too.  
  
When he curls up on his stomach beside her, the customary distance between them, he feels his fingernails digging into his palm a little bit, even though his hand is empty.


	3. Chapter 3

He wakes with echos of Meisa in his mind again, but this time they’re easier to separate from reality. It was a frustrating dream, quiet and lonely and strange and he wants to forget it as soon as possible. He’s good at forgetting stuff these days.

Kame arrives at exactly half-past-ten with Jin’s discharge papers in hand. After the final round of tests that morning, the nurse helped him into a freshly laundered pair of jeans and a t-shirt, both of which fit and felt like his, though he didn’t exactly recognize them. He assumes these aren’t the clothes he was wearing when he was brought in—they would have been a bit low-key for a concert. Kame must have brought them for him from home.

The nurse also brought him a manila envelope containing his personal effects. When he dumped them out on the mattress in front of him, he found what looked like the cord from a body mic, a cell phone, a couple of necklaces, a watch, and a few gaudy rings—as well as a very plain gold band, identical to the silver one he’d seen on Kame’s finger the other day. He stared at it for a moment, a little afraid to touch it—it felt like it belonged to someone else, someone whose place he’d taken by mistake. When he heard the door opening, he hastily scooped up the jewelry and other odds and ends and dropped them back into the envelope, folding over the flap just as Kame appeared around the edge of the curtain.

Now they’re in the car, sailing along the highway. Kame has been determinedly cheerful all morning, and it’s not remotely convincing, but Jin appreciates it anyway. At least he seems better rested now, which is a good thing. And fake cheerfulness is just as good a way to cover the awkward silences as any.

“Do you want to listen to something?” Kame asks. “Or we could open the windows, if you want. I know you’ve been sort of cooped up for a while.”

Jin shakes his head. “I’m fine. Nice to be out of the hospital though.”

“I’ll bet,” he says, nodding along. “Are you feeling okay? Are you comfortable? There are buttons down by the left-hand side if you want to adjust the seat or anything.”

Jin shakes his head again and smiles a little, closing his eyes. The sun is a bit bright, and he doesn’t have any sunglasses with him. He’s a little surprised there weren’t any in the manila envelope.

“Did you take your medication before you left the hospital? I’ve got the prescription in the glove compartment, but the doctor said you’re supposed to take it every four hours and…”

Jin cracks an eye open when Kame trails off and finds him pressing his lips together, concentrating a little too hard on the road.

“Sorry,” Kame says, darting a glance at him. “That was kind of a personal question. I’m still…getting used to it.”

Jin shakes his head, still watching Kame out of one eye. “It’s okay. You don’t have to feel weird about it.” Even though it is weird—but that’s Jin’s problem, not Kame’s. “You can ask me stuff. I’ll tell you if I don’t want to answer.”

Kame’s shoulders relax a little bit, and he readjusts his grip on the steering wheel, nodding. “Okay. Thank you.”

Jin closes his eyes again and dozes a bit. He feels them pulling off the highway and into city streets, winding and turning to who knows where. He thinks about trying to pay attention and memorize the way, but then he figures he probably won’t be leaving the apartment alone for a while anyway, and his brain is tired of trying to remember things.

They pull into an underground garage and Kame winds around until he finds the right spot. When Jin opens his eyes, he’s looking at a sign that says “Reserved, 403.”

He waits where he is until Kame climbs out of the car and retrieves his bag from the backseat, slings it across his chest, and then comes to open Jin’s door. Jin has to move very slowly and carefully, especially climbing out of these low bucket seats. Kame guides his head past the doorframe with a conscientious hand, keeps a firm grip on Jin’s elbow as he steadies himself on disused legs, tries to keep his balance without relying too much on aching abdominal muscles or putting too much strain on his stitches.

Kame steps away only long enough to close the door and press the lock button, and then he’s back at Jin’s elbow, offering any support Jin needs as they move slowly toward the elevator. When they reach the fourth floor, Kame guides them down the hallway to the right, around a couple of corners.

“It doesn’t usually feel this far,” Kame apologizes as they inch their way along.

“It’s okay,” Jin says. “Call it physical therapy.”

Finally they reach number 403. Kame still has his keys in hand and lets them in quickly, holding the door aside while Jin steps into the genkan.

A small part of him is hoping for a sudden flash of recognition once they enter the apartment—but he’s not really surprised when it doesn’t come. It does look like a nice place though, cozy, with wood flooring and cheerful blue walls in the living room, bookshelves and a couple of plants near the front balcony. He can see a kitchen with an open counter at the far end of the living room, and next to that is a hallway leading back to what must be the bedroom. And he very carefully does not freak out about that.

Kame has already removed his shoes and is kneeling in front of Jin, offering his shoulders for support as he slips Jin’s shoes off for him—bending over is on the no-no list, at least until the incisions have fully healed. Then he helps Jin into the living room and settles him on the couch, leaving a respectful foot of distance as he sits next to him.

“I’d give you a tour, but I’m guessing you’d rather stay in one place for a little while,” Kame says. “The bathroom is at the back if you need it, but you should probably let me—I mean, I don’t need to actually go in with you if you don’t want—but I don’t want you walking around too much by yourself, so please tell me if you want me to…help you. With anything. Even in the middle of the night. Do you want anything to eat? I don’t know what’s in the fridge, but I’m sure we’ve got something frozen at least. Or I could make you spaghetti. Or a lasagna! I know I have the stuff for that, I was planning to try out a new tweak to the recipe the day after—well, anyway I can start with the garlic—”

“Kame,” Jin interrupts, before Kame talks himself into making a four course meal from scratch. “I’m fine right now, really. Actually, the trip made me a little tired, so I should probably just…rest.”

Kame nods attentively for a moment. Then he seems to catch on to the question in Jin’s eyes as they both do the math and come to the same conclusion.

“I’m fine here on the couch,” Jin says quickly. “I mean, that’ll probably be easier anyway, since then I’ll just be out here already during the day and you won’t have to ferry me back and—”

“No,” Kame says, “no, don’t be ridiculous, you’re taking the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure,” Kame affirms, and he seems it. “Seriously, stitches win the bed lottery every time.”

“Okay,” Jin says. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me—it’s your bed too.”

“Right,” Jin says, because it still really doesn’t feel like that—but he doesn’t like that flinching thing Kame does whenever he inadvertently reminds him of that, so he’s trying to keep it quiet. “But…thanks anyway. For everything—all your help so far.”

Kame looks over at him, and it’s that look again for a moment, that wistful look. This time without the smile.

“Jin?” Kame says after a brief silence.

“Hm?”

“Can I…hug you? It’s fine if you don’t want me to,” he rushes on. “I completely understand. It’s just…”

“It’s fine,” Jin says, and even he can feel how uncertain his smile is. He knows Kame sees it too, but he seems willing to overlook it if Jin is. “Just, you know, careful of the ribs…”

“I’ll be careful,” Kame promises, shifting closer on the couch. He hesitates just a moment longer before leaning over and wrapping his arms around Jin’s shoulders, resting his cheek on the nearest one. “Is this okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Jin shakes his head. Then he remembers that Kame can’t see him properly and repeats the answer out loud, though his voice comes out a little hoarse. When Jin lifts the arm nearest to Kame and half-hugs him back tentatively, he feels Kame’s arms go tighter around him, fingers twisting in the back of Jin’s shirt. He hides his face against Jin’s shoulder, and Jin feels Kame’s breath leave him in a stressed-out shudder. A little bit of warmth slips under his collar.

“I was really worried about you,” Kame says. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Jin swallows, because Kame is close, and they both know he’s not really “okay.” But he’s alive and he’s going to stay that way, and that’s what Kame means. Even if he can’t remember.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” Jin says.

Kame shakes his head against Jin’s shoulder and draws in another sharp breath, just holding on. Jin’s okay. He can let Kame be here if that’s what he needs. It’s strange, but it’s not as strange as it could be, and Kame seems to need it, and that’s what matters. Kame has been taking care of him. Kame has been worried about him.

After a while, Kame takes another deep breath and pulls back, restores the careful distance between them and rests his elbows on his knees, rubbing his hands over his face. “Sorry,” he says with a little sheepish smile down at the rug underneath the coffee table. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem,” Jin says.

Kame helps him back to the bedroom and finds him a comfy pair of sweats from one of the dresser drawers. He stays nearby for safety as Jin slips out of his jeans, but keeps things businesslike, averts his eyes even though Jin is still wearing boxers. Even though even Jin can remember a time when they’d seen a lot more of each other on a daily basis, just in the dressing rooms. But that was a long time ago, and things are different now. For both of them.

Kame holds the sweatpants open for Jin to step into, since Jin isn’t supposed to bend that far, and he pulls them up to mid-thigh, lets Jin take them the rest of the way. Then he helps Jin climb into bed.

“I’ll keep my cell phone in my pocket,” Kame says, “so you can just call me if you need anything, you don’t even have to get up. Where’s your cell?”

“It’s in that envelope in your bag,” Jin says, and Kame disappears out the door. When he comes back, he has the envelope in his hands, flips it open and dumps it out on the foot of the bed.

Jin remembers it too late, only thinks of it when Kame stills. He tries to think of what to say—ask for the ring back? Offer to wear it? Wearing it would be weird, but he definitely doesn’t want to say that. But before he manages to get even a stupid thought in order, Kame is moving again, plucking the cellphone out of the pile and scooping the rest back into the envelope. Businesslike. He places the phone on Jin’s nightstand and gives him a smile, only slightly harder won than before.

“Just call me if you need anything,” he says. “I’m going to start on the lasagna—we can have it for dinner, if you’re feeling up to it.” Then he turns away, hesitating beside the dresser. He places the manila envelope on top of it and closes the door behind him with a quiet click.

* * *

Jin’s eyes blink open in the dark. It’s disconcerting to feel like he’s on his back one minute and find himself on his stomach the next. Like he stayed put while the world flipped over. He’s not really sure what woke him—the house is quiet and still, just as it should be in the middle of the night, though he’s sprawled perhaps a bit more haphazardly than usual across his side of the bed, one foot hanging out from under the covers. He thinks he must have been tossing and turning again. He hopes he hasn’t woken Meisa, but it’s pitch dark around them and she’s still snoring quietly from the other side of the bed. He wonders if he ever talks in his sleep.

He turns his head toward the nightstand and squints at the too-bright numbers on his clock until they come into focus. 3 a.m. He sighs into the pillow, closing his eyes against the faint headache. He must really be restless. He can’t remember the last time he saw 3 a.m. from anywhere but the front end. Probably while Kana was still an infant, and even then usually just because Meisa kicked him in the process of getting up to breast feed her.

He carefully pushes himself out of bed, trying not to yank on the covers or make the mattress bounce too much. When Meisa doesn’t stir, he turns away and walks into the bathroom. He only turns on the light after the door is closed behind him.

He does not look pretty in the middle of the night, he discovers. His face is pale except for the bags under his eyes, and his hair is all messy and tangled. He swipes it back from his face and leans in, looking closely at his own eyes, then at the spot just above his right eyebrow, where the skin is unbroken. He gives a slow blink. It’s weird. He knows it’s not real, he knows it’s just a dream, but the longer he stares at that spot, the stranger it feels that it’s not real. He runs his fingers over it, like it might be hiding somewhere under the surface, the broken parts. But there’s nothing there.

He’s being ridiculous.

He drops his hair again and bends low, turning on the faucet. He cups his hands under the stream and then splashes the cool water on his face. It feels good. Fresh. Substantial. Even helps his headache a little bit. He splashes himself a second time and scrubs over his skin a little bit, kneading at his forehead with his fingertips. When he looks up, his eyes seem a little less puffy, though maybe slightly bloodshot from the water and the scrubbing.

He turns off the sink and reaches for the hand towel, patting it over his face and drying his hands. His hair is still damp at the edges, and he tugs a hand through it again, shaking it out. Then he puts the towel back and returns to the bedroom, crawling back into bed.

He stares at the corner of his nightstand in the blue glow of the alarm clock, feeling the dull throb underneath his forehead. Not really thinking, just trying to be still and let himself drift. When sleep finally pulls at him, he’s grateful.

* * *

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, fingertips just below his collarbone. Gently shaking him awake.

“Jin?”

A sweet whisper.

“Jin. How are you feeling? Are you up to some food?”

Jin mumbles something before his brain has caught up with him, wonders vaguely why he’s sleeping on his back and starts to shift around—and promptly stops when he remembers very clearly why he’s sleeping on his back. He lets out a careful breath, wincing a little at the faint pull against his stitches.

Kame is watching him from overhead. “The lasagna’s ready if you want it, but I can freeze it if you think something easier on your stomach would be better. You should eat something either way though—doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s, huh?” he questions, stifling a yawn.

Kame waves a creased sheet of paper over Jin’s face too fast for Jin to make out more than a blur of bullet points. “By proxy then. Come on, up up up.”

When Jin starts to push himself up to sit, Kame’s hand moves around to his back, helping to support him so he won’t have to use his abs. “Nice to know you still have that bossy streak,” he mutters. And then regrets it, because he said it without thinking and he knows it’s flinching territory again—but if Kame is bothered by it he keeps it to himself, too busy worrying about the hole in Jin’s gut to worry about the hole in his memory.

They’re making their way toward the bedroom door when Jin brings them to a reluctant halt.

“Something wrong?” Kame says, looking up at him.

Jin can’t quite look back. “Actually, I sort of…need the restroom.”

He feels Kame tense slightly, but that’s it. “Do you want my help with anything?” he asks carefully, still trying to sound easygoing.

“I think…yeah. If you don’t mind. Just…you don’t have to do anything, just…I’d feel safer if you’re…there. I don’t want to have to go back to the emergency room and explain that I ripped my stitches because I fell over in the toilet with my pants around my ankles.”

Kame snorts a small laugh in spite of himself, and Jin feels a little of the tension in his chest ease. His ears feel hot, but he’s grinning a little, and it’s okay, it is kind of ridiculous. They’re both grown-ups, they can handle this, and…it’s not like Kame’s never seen him before. Even before before.

“Can’t have that,” Kame agrees, pressing his lips together against a grin, and Jin thinks his cheeks are a little red too.

They steer around the other direction toward the little bathroom in the corner instead. Kame leaves the door open behind them because the space is a bit small for two people plus careful maneuvering, and it’s not like there’s anyone else around here to see them anyway. Once Jin is positioned in front of the toilet, Kame stays within easy arm’s reach, but faces the other direction, with the mirror at his back, so all he can see is the blue tiled wall opposite the sink. Jin holds onto Kame’s shoulder while he’s adjusting himself, thinks about letting go when he’s actually doing his business—but Kame doesn’t seem to mind, and Jin doesn’t mind either, not really. It’s just easier this way.

Once he’s put himself back together, Kame takes his elbow again and helps him shift over to use the sink. When Jin turns off the water and flicks his wet hands over the basin, Kame plucks a hand towel off the rack and holds it out for him, taking it back when he’s done.

“What service,” Jin grins. “I should have you come help me every time I need a piss, stitches or no.”

Kame gives him a sickly sweet smile. “You do, and I’ll divorce you,” he singsongs.

And the air only stills for one beat instead of five this time, as they both hear it and wonder which one of them is going to freak out first. But neither one does, and the breath after that is a little bit easier for both of them, and somehow that helps. Maybe this will work. Maybe they can handle this. Maybe they can dance a bit around this chasm of awkwardness and still not fall in.

The table is already set for two, but the lasagna is still in the oven keeping warm. Once Kame has Jin settled in one chair, he takes both of their plates into the kitchen to dish up.

“Do you want soda, tea, or ice water to drink?” Kame calls out to him from over by the stove.

“Don’t suppose there’s any beer on the menu?”

Kame shakes his head. “Not while you’re still on medication. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re just saying that because you want it all to yourself.”

Kame chuckles. “No lie, I swear. See?” he plucks the paper out of his back pocket again and holds it up over his head. Jin can’t even see the bullet points at this distance. Especially since it’s folded up.

“Of course I can’t.”

“Ice water then?” Kame offers as he returns with two plates of the best-looking lasagna Jin’s ever laid eyes on.

“Whatever’s closest,” he murmurs, fork in hand before his plate is even fully resting on the table.

When Kame comes back with their drinks—ice water for each of them—Jin’s lasagna is already a quarter of the way gone.

“Hey,” Kame mutters as he settles into the chair opposite, “I know I said you should eat something, but you don’t want to rip your stitches from the inside either.”

“This is amazing,” Jin says, swallowing another bite. “I mean, I know it may not sound like much coming from a guy who’s been on a feeding tube for like three days, but seriously, this is really good stuff. You even made it without onions. Everybody always puts onions in it.”

Kame smiles, chin resting on his fingers as he watches Jin stuff his face. “Not my first time.”

Jin looks up, and Kame’s smile turns sideways a little. Yeah, he thinks, glancing down at the onionless lasagna with extra cheese and just the right amount of meat. Made exactly the way Jin would have asked for it if he’d ever had anyone to ask. Of course. Not his first time. When he looks up again, he nods. “It’s awesome. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” Kame says, and the smile is still there.

They eat in silence for a little while, and then Jin asks to see the list of doctor’s orders, just to find out all the other fun things he’s not allowed to do while he’s recuperating.

“Well not driving’s no problem, since I don’t even own a car,” he says—then stops, glances up at Kame. “Do I?”

Kame shakes his head. “Well, there’s mine, but I always drive.”

“Right. So no trouble there, and I don’t like grapefruit anyway, so I think I can live without that for the next week or two. No beer sucks, but I guess that’s livable. How long do I have to wear this girdle thingy?” he asks, plucking at the spandex cummerbund strapped to his waist underneath his shirt.

“Hmm,” Kame frowns, turning the paper toward himself and skimming it. He points to the third bullet, “Two weeks, looks like—same time you could start driving again, if you drove. Which you don’t. It’s supposed to support the muscles around the incision.”

Jin makes a face, reaches around and pokes at the Velcro flaps in the small of his back. “It’s itchy.”

“Maybe you can take it off when you’re lying down?” Kame offers.

“Does it say that?”

He skims the page again, shaking his head.

“Defying doctor’s orders now?” Jin says, scandalized.

Kame grins at him. “Modifying to a reasonable extent.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Jin says with half a shrug as he digs his fork into his pasta again. “Anything else we missed?”

“Hmm,” Kame mumbles, skimming the list. “Sex is not recommended for the first seven weeks.”

Jin chokes on a bite of lasagna.

Kame gives him a mildly impish look over the edge of the paper. “You asked…” he shrugs.

Jin reaches for his water glass and takes a deep gulp, relieving himself of the responsibility to come up with a suitable comeback.

Kame just grins a little more and tosses the paper back down on the table. Then he gets up, starting to collect the dishes.

Jin tries to muster a guilty look as he swipes his napkin over his mouth. “I’d offer to help, but…”

“Stay put,” Kame orders. “I don’t want to take you back to the ER and tell them you tripped heroically over a dishwasher either.”

“If you insist,” Jin says, settling back in his chair—carefully—and tucking his hands behind his head. He watches Kame bustling in and out of the kitchen, rinsing dishes off in the sink before putting them in the dishwasher. Kame plucks a large plastic container out of the cupboard and carefully slices the lasagna into meal-sized pieces, separating them with wax paper as he puts them in the container to freeze. The scene reminds him of Meisa working in the kitchen, and he wonders for a moment where that came from—until he remembers.

Weird.

This silence is nicer though, somehow.

“What?”

Jin comes back to find Kame giving him a curious look over the counter, and he realizes he’s frowning. Turns it into a mild smile. “Nothing,” he says. “Just remembering something. A dream,” he adds quickly, when Kame’s eyes go a little bit wider. “Not like…just a dream.”

Kame nods and goes back to cleaning up the work surface.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Kame says after a bit, eyes still on his work. “I was wondering something.”

“Hm?”

“It’s just…something I was curious about. You don’t have to tell me though.”

“Hey, you make me lasagna, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

Kame raises an eyebrow. “Is that how it works?”

“What, you didn’t know?”

“I’ll definitely remember,” he promises. Then he clears his throat and dumps a washrag full of crumbs into the sink, rinsing and wringing it out a bit before going back to cleaning. “I was just wondering…back at the hospital, when you first woke up. You said something about Meisa. What was that about?”

Ah. Well, Jin really probably ought to have predicted that.

“I was dreaming about her,” he says, because it’s the truth, and because a brief survey of what he knows tells him there’s nothing particularly dangerous about that answer. He’s not sure why he feels like there is, because it is just a dream. People dream stuff. And people in comas with amnesia get confused about what things are dreams and what things are real.

It’s only a little hitch in Kame’s movements, but Jin catches it anyway.

“Is that bad?” he asks.

Kame looks up, and it’s that blank, ‘who-me-nothing’s-wrong’ expression again, like after he found the wedding band in the envelope. “It’s fine,” he says. “It’s nothing.”

Yeah. So, not nothing.

“What?” Jin says.

When Kame doesn’t answer, Jin tries again. “Hey, you know, it’s not fair to clam up like that when I can’t even get up and come shake you. First rule of amnesia—when I say stuff that’s weird or that makes you mad, you have to tell me why, because I won’t know. Part of the whole amnesia thing.”

Kame sighs and leans against the counter, scrunches his face up guiltily for a moment. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair. It’s just—I don’t know what to tell you when you can’t…because if you were…if you remembered everything, then you’d already know, and I’d know what it meant, or didn’t, but if you don’t know anything then it’s not even like you can tell me what it means even if you think you know, because it’s totally out of context. You know?”

Jin stares at him for a moment. Then shakes his head. “Absolutely no idea.”

Kame laughs, and maybe it’s a little hysterical, but it’s also the most genuine laugh Jin’s heard from him since the moment he woke up in the hospital room. Kame tosses the rag aside and folds over onto the counter, burying his face in his arms, his shoulders twitching with muffled giggles. Jin just stares at him some more.

“Have you been taking my medication and eating grapefruit?” he asks.

Kame sags a little and snorts into his elbow, shaking his head, still giggling helplessly. Jin is starting to worry that his sole caregiver might be losing his mind. With a crippled amnesiac and a psycho, bathroom breaks could get really interesting from now on.

When Kame pulls himself together again, he dishes up a bowl of ice cream with chocolate sauce for each of them and starts telling Jin about the latest Japan Series between the Giants and the Lions—and some of it sounds oddly familiar, which is weird, because he wouldn’t have thought baseball scores would be the one thing his mind would hold onto desperately when everything else was being ripped away.

He doesn’t press the issue on whatever was behind Kame’s little nervous breakdown earlier, partly because he doesn’t want to risk turning his caregiver into a babbling lunatic, but mostly because he knows that if it were easy Kame would have told him already. Maybe easy is good for now. They’ve both had too much hard this week.

After they finish, and Jin talks Kame out of finishing the rest of the dishes and convinces him to leave them until morning, Kame helps Jin back down the hall to the bedroom. They stop by the bathroom so that Jin can take his medication, go to the bathroom again, and brush his teeth. Then they make their way back over to the bed, and Kame helps him get situated.

“I hate sleeping on my back,” Jin grumbles, shifting a little to try to find a position that at least feels a little less flat and straight. He turns his head and tries to tuck his chin toward the pillow.

“Well at least I won’t find you blue in the face from trying to breathe through a pillow in the morning,” Kame points out as he straightens out the turndown. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress near Jin’s elbow, and Jin cracks an eye open at him.

“It’s comfy,” he says.

“It’s freaky,” Kame replies. Then he reaches up to brush a strand of hair out of Jin’s eyes, and Jin winces. Kame pulls back. “Sorry,” he says. “I keep forgetting…”

“No, it’s not that, it’s just—it’s kinda gross right now,” he explains, pointing toward his hair. “I don’t think I’ve had a non-sponge bath since I went into the hospital. And I had concert-sweat hair when I showed up.”

Kame smiles, shoulders relaxing a little as he reaches for Jin’s hair again, letting a couple of strands slide through his fingers. Jin doesn’t wince this time. It’s nice.

“I could shampoo it for you tomorrow, if you want.”

“What, like in the shower?” Jin says warily.

But Kame just smirks. “I was thinking the sink. Much less risk of another embarrassing emergency room trip scenario.”

Jin thinks this over. “I’d be up for that. Not the emergency room,” he clarifies. “The sink.”

Kame nods. “It’s a deal then.” His fingertips slide down from Jin’s hairline, and for a moment they’re just resting on Jin’s cheek. It should feel weirder than it does, but Jin still thinks it feels nice.

Then Kame takes a little breath and pulls his hand back again. His smile is slightly apologetic, but Jin doesn’t answer the apology. It’s not a problem. He doesn’t mind. It felt nice.

“Well,” Kame says, standing up again, sliding his hands into his back pockets. “You have a good night’s sleep. I’ll keep my cell nearby all night, so just call if you need anything. Really—”

“Anything at all, yeah, yeah, I know. You get some sleep too though, okay? Doctor’s orders.”

Kame grins, his lower lip sliding between his teeth just for a moment. He nods. Then he moves over to the closet and reaches up to the top shelf, pulling down a stack of spare bedding, shifting it around in his arms and putting some things back until he has only what he needs. He pauses again in the doorway, blankets resting against his hip, with one hand on the doorknob, and looks back at Jin over his shoulder.

“Goodnight, Jin.”

Jin smiles. “Goodnight, Kame.”

* * *

He can still feel it when he wakes. Gentle fingers in his hair. Warmth where they touch him. It’s been so long since anyone touched him like that. Not efficient, not demanding, not pushing or scolding or dismissing, just there. Just because. He’s almost forgotten what it feels like.

Before he’s even awake enough to think better of it he reaches out, searching for skin and warmth—but there’s nothing. The mattress, the covers, cool in the morning light. There’s no quiet snoring and no one shifting beside him. He opens his eyes, just a crack, and of course she’s not there, it’s after eleven. She’s been gone for hours. Probably just as well that she wasn’t there.

A chill steals over his shoulder, and he shrugs down under the covers again, curls up a little deeper and buries his face in the pillow. His skin feels colder everywhere the longer he lies here in the quiet dim. All he wants right now is to go back to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a slow week for Jin. Not just because he has to hobble around the house at a snail’s pace, but because he quickly discovers that he doesn’t really have anything to do. He probably wouldn’t be trying to work on much of anything in this condition even if the amnesia weren’t a factor, but with that in the equation he doesn’t even know if he has any work to do or what it might be. Kame brings him a stack of his books and manga from the shelves, and apologizes because he’s not sure which ones Jin has read and which ones he hasn’t—but then Jin points out that neither is he, so it doesn’t really matter. One check mark for amnesia in the “up-side” column.  
  
Kame is around most of the time, helping Jin get around, seeing he gets fed, and doing what seems like a massive amount of cleaning and organizing that Jin can’t possibly imagine needs to be done just to keep enough space clear for two guys to live here (one of whom currently spends about eighteen hours a day in bed). He thinks about telling Kame as much—but then it occurs to him that he’s probably not doing it because it needs to be done. Kame’s been cooped up in here for as long as Jin has—and unlike Jin, Kame’s not so used to staying in one place for an extended period of time. Unless his work calendar has gotten a lot emptier since the part of their lives Jin can actually remember, he suspects Kame has cleared his schedule so he can stay home and take care of Jin. The organizing is just keeping his hands busy.  
  
By the third day, Jin is feeling strong enough that he’s reasonably comfortable moving around on his own, though he still isn’t breaking any speed records. But at least that allows him to convince Kame that it’s okay for him to leave the house every once in a while if he wants to, to run errands or attend meetings or whatever he would usually be doing. Kame agrees, though he still says he’s not comfortable leaving Jin alone for long periods. He’d just be worrying anyway, so it’s not like he could get much work done. But they do need to keep restocking the groceries, and he wants to buy Jin some new warmer socks because his old ones have holes in them, so at least he gets out of the house a bit and Jin doesn’t feel like a human shackle anymore.  
  
He doesn’t mention Meisa again, though the dreams continue. Every night, in fact. He’s still not sure what happened there, or what it might or might not have to do with what’s in his head, but he doesn’t want to bring it up in case whatever it is upsets Kame again. He’s being so nice and they’ve found a certain sense of equilibrium somehow, and he doesn’t want to upset that. Anyway, there wouldn’t be much to tell even if he did bring them up—the dreams are as quiet as ever, from what little he can remember.  
  
On Friday afternoon, a week and a half after Jin’s release from the hospital, Kame is out picking up something from the drug store, and Jin is snooping. He’s finished a big stack of manga already and he’s starting to go a bit cross-eyed from staring at little words on pages for so long. Plus his butt was falling asleep from sitting in one position on the mattress, so he thought a very careful walk around the living room to restore circulation was in order.  
  
He’s managed to get as far as the potted plants arranged by the balcony door, which he thinks is quite good for only seven minutes work, and he decides to reward himself by stopping over near the bookshelves and seeing if anything catches his eye. Lots of cookbooks on this one, several with names in Italian, and he cracks one open wondering if Kame has somehow become an expert on foreign languages during Jin’s blackout period (which, frankly, would still be less surprising than the revelation that he had somehow become Jin’s husband)—but a quick flip through the interior pages shows them to be in Japanese after all. There are a few novels in English, which he assumes must be his, though he doesn’t recognize them. He pages through one experimentally and finds that the words all make sense. Nice to know, though it doesn’t fill in very many blanks.  
  
On the top shelf are a few heavy books with no titles on the spines, so he reaches for one and very carefully pulls it down, resting it against a lower shelf so he doesn’t have to support the full weight of it himself.  
  
It’s a photo album.  
  
He stares at the first page of photographs for a moment, veins tingling with something like fear, because now he really feels like he’s snooping. And it’s his house, and he’s in half the photographs even though he doesn’t recognize them, but it still feels like snooping. It’s that imposter feeling again, like he’s accidentally stolen somebody else’s life and nobody has noticed yet.  
  
But he hasn’t, and it’s him, and he knows that. He’s just not sure how much more he wants to know yet.  
  
He closes the album again, but doesn’t reach up to put it back. If he leaves it out Kame will notice—Kame would notice a tchotchke set askew with all the cleaning he’s been doing lately—and that will beg awkward questions, but he can’t really reach up to put it back. He’s not supposed to lift heavy things and he’s not sure how heavy the album is. He probably shouldn’t have taken it down in the first place.  
  
And he sort of doesn’t want to put it back.  
  
Well he can’t now anyway, and Kame’s going to ask about it now anyway, and he’s a little scared to look at physical records of the life he can’t remember, but he’s curious too, and what the hell.  
  
He hobbles over to the couch and sets the album down on the coffee table, lowering himself into the corner with the pillow to help him sit up straight more easily. Then he leans over and drags the album toward him, opening it on his knees.  
  
At second glance he sees everything a little more clearly. He doesn’t recognize the occasion, but he does recognize some of the people—there’s Pi in one of the photos, and Ryo on his other side. A few other Johnnys he remembers but can’t put names to, and several more he can. There’s a group photo of KAT-TUN crowded around a cake that says “Happy Debut 10th.” Junno is blowing out candles while Koki looks poised to smash his face into the cake, and Jin’s arm is around Kame’s shoulders, Kame leaning against his side and laughing at Koki. Jin does the math based on his little calendar with the blue Xs—this picture must have been taken about a year and a half ago. Kame’s hair is dark, but with a few bold highlights that make him look more like a rock star. Jin’s hair looks about the same as it does now.  
  
There are photos of Kame’s parents, older than Jin remembers them. Looks like they must be at their house, but it’s not the one they were living in when he and Kame were kids. There are a few pictures of dogs he doesn’t recognize, another party full of people he doesn’t know this time, some scenery pictures from the mountains, maybe Hokkaido. It looks cold. Him and Kame on a ski trip, bundled up so tightly that only their noses and eyes can be seen, though Kame’s grin lifts the apples of his cheeks as he makes a gloved V sign for the camera. Jin doesn’t even remember knowing how to ski.  
  
By the time the door opens behind him, he’s paging through reels of sandy beaches, grinning at a picture of a bedraggled and soaking-wet Kame in a t-shirt and cutoff shorts, standing at the end of a pier by a turquoise ocean and glaring at the lens like he intends to throw the camera into the water. Or maybe the cameraman.  
  
“I’m home,” Kame says.  
  
“Welcome back,” Jin murmurs distractedly, still smirking at the picture. It would make an excellent cellphone wallpaper. If only he hadn’t left his cell on the nightstand—the round-trip could take hours.  
  
“What’re you looking at?” Kame asks, and Jin cranes his neck around as he hears Kame settling his purchases on the floor just inside the doorway, slipping off his shoes.  
  
“Ah…nothing?”  
  
Kame gives him a ‘do you really expect me to buy that?’ look, and okay, that was pretty lame.  
  
“Photo album,” he admits sheepishly.  
  
Kame looks a little surprised, but he covers it with a cool nod as he shrugs out of his light fall jacket and hangs it on the hook. “Find anything interesting?”  
  
“A few things,” Jin says, turning back to the book. “Can I borrow your cell?”  
  
“What for?”  
  
“I want to send myself something. I left mine in the bedroom.”  
  
Kame fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to Jin with a curious look as he comes up beside the couch. “What are you—hey wait a—give me that!” he snatches the phone back just after Jin has managed to snap a photo of the livid-Kame picture.  
  
“What?” Jin pouts, though the effect is somewhat spoiled by his laughter. “I wanted it for my cellphone wallpaper.”  
  
Kame punches him in the shoulder. “Can’t believe that thing is in the album—I thought I threw it out.”  
  
“Lies,” Jin taunts. “I might not have many memories, but I know damn sure you’re the only one of us who would write numbers on the backs of all their photographs.” He slips a finger underneath the photo and lifts it up and out just enough to reveal the neat little blue number written at the top.  
  
Kame narrows his eyes at him. “The concussion seems to have done wonders for your powers of deductive reasoning.”  
  
Jin grins and flips to the next page, skimming a whole new batch of photographs, this time somewhere in the city with a film crew. “Yeah, well, when you can’t remember back farther than a week ago, deductive reasoning becomes kind of a necessity.”  
  
“I suppose so,” Kame says, settling himself on the arm of the couch. He’s leaning over Jin’s shoulder now, one hand supporting him on the back of the couch, the other turning his cell phone end over end against his knee. “Oh,” he murmurs, pointing at one of the photographs. “That was on Bem. I remember that bridge with the wire rig.”  
  
Jin gives him a blank look, and it takes Kame a moment to notice. “Sorry,” he says when he catches up. “But don’t worry, you weren’t there anyway. I mean, you saw it, but—nevermind. It was a drama. Not important. I should get dinner pulled together.”  
  
Jin follows him with his eyes as Kame pushes himself to his feet again and goes to put away the things he’s bought. Jin keeps paging through the photographs, but mostly he’s just listening to Kame rattling around in the kitchen, occasionally singing something to himself. Nothing Jin recognizes.  
  
When Kame finishes laying out the place settings, Jin sets the album on the coffee table and starts making his way over to his chair. By the time he gets there, Kame is returning with the side dishes. He must have made them before he went out shopping, because Jin is pretty sure even Kame isn’t that much of a wizard in the kitchen.  
  
Jin takes a bite of his rice, and then serves himself up a few of the other dishes. Kame watches him out of the corner of his eye as Jin takes his first few bites and pronounces everything delicious, and only then does he relax and enjoy his own meal. Jin can’t help wondering if he’s always like that, always worried that whatever he’s made won’t be good enough, or if it’s just a part of the way things are now. Like he thinks that the concussion might have also affected Jin’s taste buds.  
  
“So,” Jin says, “what was it about?”  
  
Kame blinks at him and shakes his head a little, not following.  
  
Jin nods toward the album on the coffee table. “The drama—the Bem thing. Tell me about it.”  
  
Kame still looks a little nonplussed, but shrugs a shoulder and takes another bite of rice. “It was based on Yokai Ningen Bem,” he explains. “Didn’t you ever watch that one when you were a kid?”  
  
The title does sound vaguely familiar, now that he hears it—but if it was something else before it was a drama, that doesn’t have to mean much. He could have heard it anywhere. Jin shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Unless there are more holes in my memory than I thought.”  
  
Kame nods over a bite of rice. “Yeah, well, it was fun—sweet, but sad. Lots of makeup and CGI. Kind of exhausting.”  
  
“When did you do it?” Jin asks, plucking up another mouthful of vegetables.  
  
Kame frowns at the ceiling. “Mm…five years ago? Six. Something like that. There was a movie too. It all sort of runs together. It was right around the time we took—”  
  
Jin looks up when Kame stops abruptly. Kame’s eyes are on his food, concentrating, but mostly just picking. Like he’s trying to pretend he wasn’t saying anything.  
  
“You can say stuff,” Jin says. “You can tell me stuff about…about us. The stuff I can’t remember. I want to know.”  
  
Kame glances up at him, still uncertain. “It’s weird for you though.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin shrugs. “Of course it’s weird. But it’s my life—I want to know about it. And it’s not your fault that I can’t remember, so I wish you’d quit acting guilty just for treating me the way you normally would.”  
  
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”  
  
“I’m not,” Jin says firmly. “I’m really not. I like it here. You’re being really great about this, and I really appreciate it—”  
  
“Oh come on, don’t—”  
  
“No, seriously—I get it. I know how hard this must be for you, and I hate that. And…I want to know about stuff. I want you to tell me about stuff. Because…if it turns out that I can’t remember…”  
  
Kame’s jaw clenches, and Jin sees him staring very hard at the plate again, and he sort of wishes he hadn’t brought it up.  
  
“I’m not saying it’ll happen that way,” he says, and without really thinking about it he reaches over and touches Kame’s elbow where it’s resting on the table. Kame gives a start and looks up, and Jin almost snatches his hand back just in case it was the wrong thing, but then he doesn’t. Because Kame looks a little less upset now, and maybe it’s helping. They haven’t exactly avoided each other this past week or so, but Jin hasn’t been volunteering much non-essential touch either, and Kame seems to be very judicious about it. “But this is what it is. And I don’t want to just hang around here waiting for the floodgates to open and tiptoeing around everything that’s missing in the meantime.”  
  
Kame nods. He still seems a little stiff, but he hasn’t moved his elbow away from Jin’s touch, and he even smiles a little bit when Jin lightly strokes his arm with the pad of his thumb. “Okay,” Kame says.  
  
When they’ve finished their dinner, Jin heads back to the bathroom to use the facilities while Kame cleans up. At his current pace, Jin figures Kame should just about have all the leftovers tidied away by the time Jin crawls back into bed, propping himself up against the headrest again and picking up the manga he was in the middle of earlier. A few minutes later, Kame comes to join him. He’s holding the photo album.  
  
Jin puts the manga aside and pats the empty half of the mattress. Kame hesitates only a moment before circling around the end of the bed and climbing up next to Jin, sitting on top of the covers with his legs crossed at the ankles. Jin reaches for the album and opens it across their laps so that the spine is resting between their not-quite-touching thighs.  
  
Kame tells him about the ski trip, which was actually in the Canadian Rockies, and how they had to send out the snow patrol when Jin got cocky and got himself stranded on a black diamond on the back bowl. Jin’s English came in very handy that week, and Kame managed to pick up enough to comfortably order food and drinks, swear at reckless snowboarders, and communicate with paramedics trying to rescue his idiot husband.  
  
The livid-Kame picture was from their trip to Borneo. Kame was there filming a movie, and Jin flew down to join him after the project had wrapped. While Kame is telling him about the amazing lodging they were staying in, these cabins that were literally right out over the water, Jin manages to snap a photo of Kame’s angry face with his own cell phone this time. Kame stops talking and tries to wrestle it away from him again to delete it.  
  
“No, no, no!” Jin grins, holding the cell phone away in his far hand while Kame tries to reach for it without elbowing Jin in the stitches. Jin uses his free hand to bat away Kame’s flailing arms. “Mine now, you can’t have it!”  
  
“This was all just a ruse to get that damn picture wasn’t it,” Kame grumbles, punching Jin in the shoulder again as he settles against the headboard. “Jerk.”  
  
Jin fiddles with the cellphone’s image settings, cropping the photo until Kame is glaring up at him from the phone’s main screen. “But you look so cute when you’re pissed off,” he points out, turning the phone to show Kame.  
  
Kame glares at it and elbows Jin again. “Idiot,” he says, but there’s a grin twisting underneath it.  
  
“See?” Jin says, pointing at Kame’s current lame attempt at staying angry.  
  
“You’re an ass.”  
  
“Maybe I should take a picture of this angry-Kame face too and use it for the lock screen.”  
  
“Don’t you ever shut up?”  
  
“I could use one of the manga filters and make you look like you’re—”  
  
But the words die in his throat when suddenly Kame turns to him and kisses him.  
  
It’s not a deep kiss, and it doesn’t even go anywhere, but it’s firm and spontaneous and a little bit breathless. Maybe because Jin doesn’t breathe.  
  
And it’s Kame. Which is weird. But not as weird as he’d have thought. Sort of…nice, actually.  
  
After a moment Kame sits back, and his hand is still on Jin’s cheek, but his eyes are a little panicky, and Jin thinks maybe that kiss wasn’t completely on purpose. He also thinks he doesn’t like that panicky look, and…he doesn’t really mind. Their shoulders are touching and the comfortable weight of the photo album is perched between their thighs, and Kame’s hand is still on his face, and Jin doesn’t mind. Not a bit.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kame says, swallowing and looking away, dropping his hand from Jin’s face and shifting against the headboard so their shoulders aren’t touching anymore. “That was…I…forgot.”  
  
Jin thinks maybe “forgot” isn’t quite the right word, but he isn’t inclined to quibble over semantics when there are more important issues to address. He reaches for Kame’s hand and laces their fingers together. He feels it when Kame stares, first at their hands, then at Jin’s profile, which feels a little warm, but he doesn’t pull away.  
  
“It’s okay,” he says. “I…don’t mind.” And he really doesn’t. There are butterflies threatening to rip his stitches from the inside, but that’s not the same as minding.  
  
“Really?” Kame asks, his fingers tightening a little bit around Jin’s hand, and his tone is slightly skeptical, but also slightly hopeful. And Jin suddenly wishes very much that he could remember. Not for his sake, but for Kame’s.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, with a little nod. And then he looks over at Kame, because maybe that will help. “Really.”  
  
They keep on paging through the album for another hour or so. Kame tells him more about the filming on Bem, this one day that got really hot and there was a stunt shot that just wasn’t working and the spirit gum keeping his wig in place under his hat got really itchy in the heat. He tells him about Koki getting drunk at the debut anniversary party last year and trying to make out with Yamapi, who pushed him into the swimming pool. How that sparked a clothing-mandatory pool party that resulted in a load of thirty-something Johnnys squelching around a rented mansion in soaking-wet Prada.  
  
At some point Jin scoots down onto his side—he can sleep comfortably on his side now, as long as it’s the one without the incision—pulling the covers up over his shoulder without letting go of Kame’s hand. Kame still has the album on his lap, but he’s gradually sliding down the headboard too, sinking into the mattress. Eventually he notices when Jin’s eyes take a really long blink.  
  
Kame smiles down at him for a moment, then pushes the album quietly shut.  
  
“Kinda late, huh?” Kame says. “I should let you get some sleep.”  
  
But when he tries to roll to his feet, Jin doesn’t let go of his hand.  
  
Kame glances back at him, questioning, and Jin nibbles at the side of his lower lip, staring down at their joined hands. It’s gotten sort of comfy. He doesn’t want to let go. Who knows what things will look like in the morning if he lets go, maybe back to not touching and not talking about anything, and he doesn’t want that. All that work, wasted.  
  
“You don’t have to,” Jin says. “I mean, there’s plenty of room. I’m not exactly an active sleeper these days. I promise not to kick you off the mattress.”  
  
Kame blinks at him, and Jin thinks he might be holding his breath.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Jin nods against the pillow. “It’s your bed too,” he murmurs. He doesn’t look up at him, but he still doesn’t let go.  
  
He feels the mattress shift under him as Kame sets the photo album over on his nightstand. Then Kame reaches up to flick off the light, and shifts around until he’s lying down on top of the covers.  
  
Jin glances sheepishly from their joined hands to Kame, who is lying on his side, facing Jin. “I didn’t mean—you don’t have to sleep with your clothes on,” he says with a little grin. “I’ll let you go change. I’m not, like, trying to hold you hostage or anything.”  
  
But Kame shakes his head, and Jin can see his own little smile as his eyes adjust to the darkness. “It’s fine,” Kame says. “I’m comfortable right where I am.”  
  
“You sure?”  
  
“Yes,” Kame says firmly, and he squeezes Jin’s hand as proof.  
  
“Okay,” Jin says, “but don’t blame me if the wrinkles in those jeans make itchy red marks all up and down your legs by morning.”  
  
Kame laughs, and Jin feels him curl up, scoot in just a little bit closer. “I will completely blame you.”  
  
Jin can feel Kame’s warmth across the distance even through the blankets as they fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

When Jin wakes up, the house is quiet and his hand feels cold.  
  
He turns slowly onto his back, closing his eyes and trying to hold on to the last few fragments of the dream. That familiar scent nearby, in the blankets. A comforting weight across his thighs. Chuckles in his ear. That hand in his, neither willing to be the first to let go. Neither wanting to let go at all.  
  
It was a nice dream. He really wants to roll over and finish it.  
  
His eyes fall open. He stares at the strips of sunlight cast across the ceiling from the bedroom window. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows he has the house to himself for the day. Meisa is working on location and won’t get back until morning, and Kana is over at Reio and Saori’s having a sleepover with her cousins. It’s a good opportunity for him to finally get some work done. His head aches a little, but his stomach muscles don’t, and when he gets up he’ll be able to walk around the house like a normal person and he won’t need anybody taking care of him, and he won’t have anyone casting dismayed sideways looks at him when they think he can’t see, wishing he could remember things he doesn’t, and everything is really fine and perfect and there’s nothing wrong at all. And he’d still rather turn over and go back to sleep.  
  
Jin pushes the covers off of him, goes to shower and change. He can shampoo his hair by himself, and there’s no giant ugly scar on his forehead. He steps out feeling fresh and clean and still a little cold, slips into jeans and a t-shirt, then zips a hoodie over that. Why has Meisa still got the air conditioning up so high anyway? It’s October. He turns the thermostat up a bit and goes into the kitchen to fix himself some breakfast, and then it’s into his studio to work.  
  
He covers his ears with the headphones and covers the quiet whispers about ski trips and Prada pool parties in his head with a wall of synth and his own distorted voice, sliding levels up and down and moving bits around and never letting it be quiet. He doesn’t even hear what he’s making, it probably sounds like shit, but at least it drowns out the quiet. Because in the quiet all he can hear are those whispers, and that warm chuckle that makes him want to crawl back under the covers like he’s never wanted so much before in his life.  
  
Around midafternoon, he pushes off the headphones and stands up, goes into the kitchen again. His head is too full and drifty with competing sounds, warm chuckles distorted with synth, and he can’t think anymore, it’s not working. He pulls out a cup of noodles from the cupboard and heats up the kettle, pours in what he thinks is the right amount and then sits at the table to wait. He stares at the cup like a starving man, but the truth is he can barely muster an appetite.  
  
He needs to talk to someone. Just have another voice around—a real voice, human, not some dream that follows him around like he’s being haunted by a really warm and cozy ghost.  
  
He digs his phone out of his pocket and sits back in the kitchen chair, flipping through the contacts. His thumb hovers over one number, then the next, some people he hasn’t spoken to in years—maybe they wouldn’t think he was crazy. Maybe he just wouldn’t care if they did. Maybe he thinks he’s crazy too.  
  
In the end, he calls Pi. He listens to the phone ringing and darts a glance up at the clock on the microwave, because he realizes he has no idea what time it is really, it could be 3 a.m. for all he knows, but it’s not, it’s four in the afternoon, and it’s fine.  
  
“Hey,” Pi says, as if he’s been expecting Jin’s call, and that throws him off for a minute, because even Jin wasn’t expecting to call. But then he remembers this is Pi, and he always calls Pi, and that’s normal. That’s not crazy.  
  
“Hi,” he says. “It’s Jin.” And that’s stupid, Pi knows who it is.  
  
“Oh good. So I can put the ransom money back in my bank account then.”  
  
“Huh?”  
  
“You haven’t called me in ages, man,” Pi says. “I was starting to think you’d been kidnapped by evil bad guys.”  
  
Jin grins a little bit, settles a little more against his chair. Yeah. Pi helps. “Nah. They tried, but I fought them off. I’ve been hiding in an undisclosed location.”  
  
“You suck at this,” Pi says. “How’s the family? Kana still cute?”  
  
Jin’s stomach lurches a bit at the sudden change of subject—but then it makes sense, that’s what you say when someone calls you, just to chat. “Kana’s adorable,” Jin says, because at least that part’s easy. “She’s made a friend at daycare, but I get the feeling it’s sort of a push-me-pull-you kind of relationship. They fight a lot.”  
  
“Making you nostalgic?” Pi asks, and Jin can hear his grin, and it makes him nervous again. They don’t talk about Kame, haven’t mentioned his name to each other even in passing for years, but he’s there sometimes anyway. Between the lines.  
  
And sometimes he’s in Jin’s dreams, sitting next to him on the bed and stealing a kiss from him between stories about vacations and parties that Jin can’t remember.  
  
“Everything okay?”  
  
Jin blinks, realizes he’s dropped the ball of this conversation even more quickly than usual. “Fine,” he says, and has to clear his throat a little. “It’s nothing.”  
  
“You sure? Cause it sort of sounds like it’s not.”  
  
This would be his opportunity. This is the part where he admits that yeah, it’s true, he’s not fine. He’s going insane. He’s dreaming up some other life where he’s in love with Kame only he can’t remember it, and Kame makes him lasagna just the way he likes it and helps him go to the toilet so he doesn’t rip his stitches, and it’s really weird and strange and nice, and sometimes it’s so real that he’s afraid to wake up.  
  
“I’m sure,” he says instead. Tries to smile, make it sound easy. “Just been working a lot lately, not getting enough sleep.” Getting too much sleep. “I’m on a break right now and I thought it might clear my head to hear another human voice for a bit. Meisa’s out of town and I’ve been mixing demos all afternoon.”  
  
“Ah,” Pi says. “Well, always glad to be your human voice.”  
  
They chat for a little while longer, and by the end of it Jin feels almost normal again, and he thinks this was a good idea. Pi is always a good idea. Pi solves everything. He’s great like that.  
  
By the time he hangs up, his noodles are a cold pile of mush, so he throws them away and makes a frozen curry instead. Then he goes back to the computer and tries to work.  
  
The slight twinge over his right eye gradually develops into a full-fledged throb, and finally he has to take the headphones off again, go into the bathroom and hunt up some aspirin. As he stands over the sink, swallowing half a glass of water along with the pills, he stares at his reflection. He looks sort of pale and drawn, like he really hasn’t been sleeping much lately, even though he knows he has. He scratches at his forehead, right up underneath the edge of his floppy, messy hair, right where the scar would be.  
  
He puts the glass down on the counter and turns away, scrubbing his hands over his face. Sits down on the tile floor with his back resting against the cabinets under the sink. He wants to sleep. But he’s a little afraid to sleep. It hurts more every time he wakes up.  
  
He digs his phone out of his pocket again without really thinking, starts scrolling aimlessly through the contacts. Some old, some new. Some very old.  
  
His finger hovers over the name for a long time. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say. But he’s been scrolling back and forth past it for ten minutes now, and now he’s just sitting here staring at it, waiting. For sense. For courage.  
  
He puts the phone to his ear. It rings three times before it stops.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
The voice runs through him, familiar but far away. A little curious, a little stiff.  
  
“Hi,” Jin says. “It’s me. Akanishi.” He swallows. The words are coming to him one at a time, and he has no idea why he’s calling, what he plans to say next. But he knows he has to keep talking or they’ll hang up, and then he’ll be right back where he started. And he’s not even sure where that is.  
  
“I was wondering…if you wanted to meet me for a drink.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s a quiet little neighborhood pub on a street corner in Ikebukuro, tucked away from the major roads and far from the bustle of Sunshine City. Kame was filming when Jin called, said he wouldn’t be done until late, so could they meet somewhere in his neighborhood. Jin said anywhere was fine, and Kame directed him to this place, the Fox and Hound, with its dark-green-painted wooden façade and chalked menuboard out front with the little Union Jack drawn in the corner.  
  
Jin pushes inside the dark bar, and already he can guess why Kame likes this place. There’s baseball on the TVs overhead, but more than that it’s the rich dark wood and the feeling of being somewhere else, somewhere halfway around the world where no one knows you. There are a few people sitting at the bar and a couple of the booths along one side are occupied, but no one even looks up when Jin walks in. He’s not wearing sunglasses because it’s 11 p.m. and once he turned off the major thoroughfare it was too dark to see with them on—but his hood is up, and he would still stick out like a sore thumb if this were a different sort of place with a different sort of clientele.  
  
Kame’s not here yet, so Jin walks over to the bar. The young bartender blinks when she notices him, but doesn’t say anything, just asks him what he wants to drink. He orders a draft, something imported that he doesn’t recognize but she recommends, and takes it over to one of the empty booths at the back. He sits on the far side of the table, so he can see the door.  
  
He pulls out his phone and fidgets a little, but it doesn’t really distract him. He keeps checking the door between each sentence of every email, the words mingling with snatches of the muted sports commentary from overhead, until he somehow thinks Pi is emailing him to ask when his next stint as the starting pitcher for the Hanshin Tigers is supposed to be, and then he closes his inbox and starts playing fruit ninja instead, because at least he doesn’t need to have more than half a brain for that.  
  
The door opens and closes again, and Jin glances up, and there’s Kame. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark jacket, and his hair is red just like he remembers, just like it almost always was, and he hasn’t realized until now that he was half expecting it to be black. Kame rests his elbows on the bar and smiles at the bartender. Jin can’t hear what they’re saying from here, but it seems like they know each other, like Kame comes in here all the time. She starts filling a draft for him and Kame scratches at the back of his neck, pushes his hair back from his face a little. It’s a little bit longer, Jin thinks, in addition to being lighter. Looks cool but natural, and Jin thinks he must have stopped off home and had a shower before coming here if he’s just finished with filming, because it doesn’t have that stiff, stale-product look that ten hours under studio lights tend to give it.  
  
Once he has his beer, Kame turns toward the back of the bar and finds Jin looking at him. The smile slides off his face, replaced with a careful neutral expression, and he nods. Jin tries to smile. Kame pushes off from the bar and walks over, sets down his beer on the table before sliding into the seat opposite, and Jin self-consciously scoots to sit up straight, like he’s afraid there won’t be enough leg room for both of them.  
  
“Hey,” Kame says, resting his elbows on the table and closing his hands around his beer glass.  
  
“Hi,” Jin says. Oh god. It’s awkward, it’s weird, what the hell is he doing here? He feels like he’s talking to a celebrity. Which of course he is, but he’s a celebrity that Jin has known since he was a dorky weedy little punk kid nobody, and it’s not the fact that Kame’s face is on billboards that’s making him feel like he knows things about him that Kame wouldn’t want him to know. Like he’s been reading Kame’s diary. Paging through Kame’s photo albums. Holding Kame’s hand when he falls asleep.  
  
Which is crazy, of course. Because he hasn’t really been doing any of that. For all practical purposes, he and Kame are little more than strangers.  
  
“How have you been?” Jin tries.  
  
Kame nods. “Fine,” he says. And he’s still watching Jin with that careful look, like he’s wondering what they’re doing there.  
  
Good question.  
  
“How’s filming?”  
  
Kame takes a sip of his beer and nods again. “It’s fine,” he says. “We’re almost finished.”  
  
“It’s a movie this time, right?” Jin says, because he hasn’t been paying all that much attention to the television lately, but he’s pretty sure he would have remembered if he’d come across anything starring Kame. Especially recently.  
  
“Yeah,” Kame says. “A romantic comedy. We finished all the location stuff last month and now we’re just filling in the studio scenes.”  
  
“Cool,” Jin says, taking a sip of his own beer, and knowing his nod is anything but.  
  
“How about you?” Kame says, rescuing them both when Jin fails to come up with the next fascinating question. “I heard you’re working on a new album.”  
  
Jin grabs onto this like a lifeline and starts telling Kame about the sorry state of his most recent demo tracks. He figures if he just keeps talking about something maybe it will keep them here long enough for him to figure out why he’s here in the first place. Kame just nods along and asks the right questions in the right places, and Jin keeps catching him frowning slightly over the rim of his beer, like Jin is a puzzle he’s trying to work out. A very chatty, confused puzzle. Jin hopes that if he works it out, he’ll clue Jin in too.  
  
The second round arrives while Jin is telling Kame about the drawing Kana brought home from daycare the other day, which was meant to be a cat, but Jin thought it looked more like an elephant and made a joke about trunks that elicited the cutest little Daddy-you’re-such-an-idiot look. Kame smiles and nods, his eyes still thinking.  
  
“How’s Meisa?” he asks.  
  
“Huh?” Jin’s arm twitches mid-gesture and bumps the rim of his beer glass, sending it toppling over into his lap. Jin gasps at the unexpected cold shower and lurches back in his seat, but it’s no good—he’s soaked.  
  
“Shit,” he mutters, righting the glass and reaching for the napkin dispenser at the end of the table. He tries to soak up as much of the beer as possible, but the glass was nearly full and it’s seeping into the hem of his t-shirt and his light jeans are half-dark now from hip to knee.  
  
Kame is still observing him from across the table, slightly bewildered, but Jin also gets the feeling he’s trying not to laugh. There’s a little bit of silence as Jin tries helplessly to clean up the mess. A waitress brings over a damp rag to clean up the table and the seat, offers Jin a towel that’s only a little bit more effective than the wadded up napkins.  
  
“You can come up to my place if you want,” Kame offers. “I’ve got a washer-dryer.”  
  
“What?” Jin looks up quickly, heart in his throat. Which is stupid, Kame’s just offering him a washing machine. “No, it’s fine, I can just—”  
  
“Come on, don’t be ridiculous,” Kame says. “We’ll rinse the stain and throw them in the dryer. Half an hour, tops. It’s right around the corner. You can’t hail a cab looking like that.”  
  
Jin is still futilely trying to mop at his jeans, but he has to admit Kame is right. If nothing else, him trying to hail a cab at midnight with a giant dark stain all down his pants is not the picture he wants to see splashed across the Sunday tabloids. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”  
  
“It’s right around the corner,” Kame says, taking another long sip of his beer and leaving the rest, getting to his feet to leave enough cash to cover the round. Jin gets up too, folds up the damp towel and puts it neatly on the corner of the table. Then he pulls his hood up again as he follows Kame out of the bar, gets his sunglasses out and puts them on again too, because maybe that will lessen his chances of being recognized, and he’s following Kame now, so it’s not like he’s going to get lost. Of course, he’s following Kame now, which also probably doubles his chances of being recognized. They might not have appeared in public together for more than half a decade now, but paparazzi don’t forget things as easily as normal people do.  
  
Jin shivers as they walk down the street. October is cold, and it’s much colder when your pants are soaking wet. He walks with his feet a little bit apart, trying not to look too much like a cowboy who’s just climbed off a horse while still avoiding awkward chafing. He really hopes Kame wasn’t exaggerating when he said his place was just around the corner.  
  
Just as he thinks it, he nearly bumps into Kame when Kame suddenly stops and turns toward the entrance to a large apartment building on a quiet back street. Kame punches a key code into the pad beside the door, and the door unlocks, Kame holding it open to let Jin through first. The lobby isn’t large, but it’s pleasant and a bit beige, and Kame walks straight through it to the elevators at the far end, pushing the button for the fourth floor.  
  
The déjà vu feeling doesn’t really start to settle until the elevator doors open again, and Jin follows Kame out into the carpeted hallway. He feels like he’s been here before, but he knows he hasn’t—the last time he visited Kame’s apartment, Kame still lived in Shinjuku. He’s not sure when he moved to this place, but it must have been after they’d stopped talking. By the time they reach the end of the hallway, Jin can feel the goosebumps crawling up his arms, and his blood pumps a bit thickly through his veins when Kame stops in front of his apartment door.  
  
403.  
  
Jin barely hears the key turning in the lock over the pulse in his ears. When Kame opens the door, Jin follows him in mutely. Stops. Stares.  
  
It’s the same place.  
  
The walls are the same cozy blue, though a few pieces of furniture are different or missing. There are no plants in the corner by the bookshelf, but the curtains by the balcony door are the same. It feels a bit darker than he remembers, but then he realizes the only light in the living room is coming from the small reading lamp on the end table between the couch and the armchair—the floor lamp that should be in the corner is missing.  
  
Kame clears his throat and Jin gives a start, sees Kame looking at him with a little frown. Jin toes off his shoes and steps into the living room, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and not stare too much. He tells himself he’s not crazy, there has to be some explanation, maybe he was here and he just forgot, this is freaky.  
  
Kame gives him one last look and then gestures toward the hallway, leading Jin back into the bedroom. Jin follows with some trepidation.  
  
The bedspread is different, a dark silver-gray instead of navy. The surfaces are cleaner, everything tidied away, only one book left out on the nightstand. Only one alarm clock, on Kame’s side. The tile in the bathroom is that same strange blue that doesn’t quite match the walls in the living room, like it’s left over from a previous resident’s color scheme.  
  
“Here,” Kame says, handing Jin a pair of grey sweatpants. “You can change into these for now. Rinse the beer out in the sink,” he nods toward the adjoining bathroom. “The dryer’s in the hall closet.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin says.  _I know_ , he thinks. “Thanks.”  
  
As soon as Kame has left the room and closed the door behind him to give Jin some privacy, Jin allows himself a small freak-out.  
  
“Holy shit,” he mutters, staring around at the familiar bedroom. “Holy shit…”  
  
He must have been here before. It’s the only explanation. He doesn’t remember it, but he  _definitely_  remembers this place, and he must have seen it before. Maybe in photographs or…but that wouldn’t explain…he must have been here. Somehow.  
  
Finally, when that explanation is beginning to sound somewhat plausible due to sheer repetition, Jin takes a deep breath and reminds himself that Kame is waiting outside and Jin is currently hanging around in Kame’s bedroom, and if he takes too long about it that could get awkward. He quickly slips out of his jeans and tugs on the sweatpants, then goes into the bathroom and rinses the beer-soaked sections of the fabric until the stickiness goes away, scrubbing and wringing a little as needed. He ignores the fact that the hand towels are the same white ones with the thin blue stripe he remembers and walks back through the bedroom, leaving the door open as he crosses to the hall closet. Once the dryer is rumbling away, Jin wanders back out into the living room.  
  
Kame is in the kitchen doing something, maybe cleaning up the breakfast dishes he didn’t have time for in his rush to get to work and start his productive Kame day.  
  
“You can take your jacket off, you know,” Kame calls out to him. “Make yourself comfortable.”  
  
As if it were an order, Jin shrugs out of the hooded jacket he’d forgotten he was still wearing and hangs it on the hook next to the door. Then he wanders around the end of the couch and sits down, trying not to stare too much. It’s really hard.  
  
There are fewer cookbooks on the shelf, and none with titles in Italian. The top shelf that should be full of photo albums is full of heavy, serious volumes with titles like “The Complete Works of Shakespeare” and “The Art of War.” If Kame still owns any manga, he must keep them hidden away in a cupboard somewhere.  
  
“Here.”  
  
Jin glances over when Kame’s voice is suddenly much closer than the kitchen, and his eyes flick from Kame’s appraising face to the beer in his outstretched hand.  
  
“Thanks,” Jin says belatedly, accepting the beer and taking a very long drink. He feels the couch move a little as Kame settles himself beside Jin with his own beer, one leg curled up under the other. Jin feels watched, takes another deep drink of his beer before settling it between his knees and staring hard at the label. Brewed from the crystal clear waters of the Alps, imagine that…  
  
“Anything wrong?” Kame asks pointedly.  
  
“What?” Jin looks up, shakes his head. “No. I’m fine. Thanks for the beer. It’s good.” He takes another sip to prove it. Doesn’t taste a thing.  
  
Kame is still sitting there with his own hardly-touched bottle resting against his knee, watching Jin going quietly crazy. “Come on, Jin,” he says. “We can do another hour of pointless small talk, or you can cut the bullshit and tell me what’s going on. You’re stuck here till your pants are dry anyway. Might as well put the time to good use.”  
  
Jin darts a glance over at him, then looks away again, toward the bookshelf. Yeah, okay. Probably should have seen that coming. Kame’s the actor, not him.  
  
Jin takes another long sip of his beer and then sets it down carefully on the coffee table, arranging it in the middle of the nearest coaster. He shifts back on the seat and clears his throat, rubs his palms over his knees to wipe off the beer sweat. Or maybe it’s real sweat, he can’t tell.  
  
“I’ve been having these…dreams. Lately.”  
  
Oh crap. It sounds even stupider out loud than he thought.  
  
“Dreams,” Kame repeats, one eyebrow arching slightly.  
  
Too late to turn back now. Unless he wants to steal Kame’s sweatpants and make a run for it, he’s stuck here for a good while. Jin clears his throat again and forges ahead. “Yeah. Really weird ones. Involving…you.”  
  
“I see.”  
  
Kame waits for Jin to continue.  
  
Jin doesn’t.  
  
“Weird how, exactly?”  
  
Another good question. “They’re just really…real,” Jin explains—though that doesn’t quite cover it, he thinks, eyes flicking over the bookshelf and the cozy blue walls again. “I mean, it’s not like I can remember everything that happens, it’s sort of fuzzy sometimes.” Fingers in his hair. A warm hand in his. Warmth across the distance. He shakes off the sensations as quickly as they appear. “And I know people have vivid dreams all the time, I’m not an idiot, it’s just… The weird thing is they always…they always make sense.”  
  
That’s what it is. That’s what’s been bothering him. He couldn’t put his finger on it before, but now it seems glaringly obvious.  
  
“Sense?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says, half to himself, though he feels a bit more focused now. “You know, like, usually when you wake up from a really vivid dream, when you try to remember what it was about and how it went there’s always something that just obviously wasn’t real, but nobody noticed—like, one minute you’re dreaming about your brother and his football team and the next minute somehow it’s Will Smith instead and he’s playing cricket in a scuba mask but in the dream it never occurred to anyone that anything had changed. But there’s nothing like that in these dreams. There are some things I can’t remember, but everything I can remember always fits, perfectly. And it feels real. Sometimes for a little while after I wake up, the dream feels more real than reality.”  
  
Kame nods this over as he takes a sip of his own beer. He leans forward to set it down on the table as well, then settles back against the couch again with his elbow on the backrest. There’s a familiar little crease between his brows that says he’s really thinking, and some of the cool skepticism has slipped away.  
  
“Have you spoken to a doctor? Those sound almost like schizophrenic delusions. You’re a little over the average age of onset, but it’s not impossible. You should have a psych test.”  
  
Jin’s pulse jolts as visions of permanent mental illness dance in his head. Trust Kame to be frighteningly logical about the whole thing. “I…I haven’t. I don’t think it’s that…I mean, they’re just  _dreams_. It’s not like I’m hallucinating stuff when I’m awake.” Freakishly familiar apartments notwithstanding. “What’s a doctor going to do, tell me not to sleep?”  
  
Kame shrugs a shoulder. “You’re the one consulting a pop idol for medical advice. What do you want me to do, sing you to sleep?”  
  
“I’m not  _consulting_  you, I’m just—”  
  
He stumbles. What exactly is he trying to do?  
  
“It’s just weird, okay?”  
  
Kame nods again, and now Jin finds that pensive look of his a little bit suffocating. Maybe he should have tried a doctor first after all. Would have been less scary.  
  
“You say the dreams involve me somehow?”  
  
Jin darts a look at him again. Nods. Swallows. “Yeah. They’re sort of…mostly about you. I mean, you and me, but…there’s not really anyone else around. I’ve had an accident or something and I’m recovering from surgery and you…you’re taking care of me. We’re…together.”  
  
There goes that eyebrow again.  
  
Jin doesn’t elaborate. He knows Kame gets it. His eyes drift over to the spot in the corner by the bookshelf. The place where the potted plants should be but aren’t in the apartment he recognizes that he’s never seen before today.  
  
“Happy?”  
  
For a moment Jin’s not sure what Kame means, but then he realizes he’s still asking about the dream.  
  
“Yeah,” he answers. “I think so. I mean, it’s hard to tell because I have amnesia—”  
  
“Amnesia,” Kame repeats, incredulous.  
  
Jin nods. “In the dream. But…yeah, you…you seem pretty happy. And…it’s not bad. When I’m there. I mean, when I’m dreaming about it.”  
  
Kame is quiet for a long time.  
  
“Sounds like a nice dream,” he says.  
  
Jin doesn’t say anything.  
  
He hears the compressor on the refrigerator begin to hum quietly from the kitchen. There’s traffic rolling by on the street below, the kind you can only hear when no one speaks, when the air stills. He remembers sitting on this very same couch in this very same spot with Kame right next to him, right where he’s sitting now. Though he’s maybe a little closer now than he was then. Would have been then. If that were reality and this were the dream. Except when he did get close, when his arms wrapped around Jin’s shoulders and he told him how glad he was that Jin was okay.  
  
Jin rubs sweaty palms against his thighs again, and this time he can’t blame them on the beer. He notices his fingers trembling a little and stops them, twists them together in between his knees.  
  
“Jin?”  
  
Kame’s voice is low, and a little closer than it was before. Jin hesitates a moment before turning to look at him, and they’re only inches apart now.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
And then Kame’s hand is on his cheek, and he’s kissing him, and Jin can’t say anything, can’t move, can’t even breathe. It’s not gentle, but it’s not meant to bruise either, just strong enough to leave no doubt as to intentions. And Jin lets him, opens up slightly when Kame’s tongue runs across his lower lip, and he can’t breathe.  
  
“What are you—?” Jin stutters when Kame pulls back, just barely.  
  
“Just testing a hypothesis,” Kame says, his eyes dark.  
  
“Hypothesis?” Jin tries not to gulp. He can’t look away.  
  
“I think I’ve finally figured out what the fuck you’re doing here,” Kame says, with a little quirk of his lips. It’s not exactly playful, but it doesn’t make Jin want to move away. He shivers as Kame’s hand runs slowly down the side of his throat and over his chest. He watches Kame’s eyes following it until it settles on Jin’s thigh, fingertips curling toward the inseam.  
  
“If I’m wrong,” Kame says, meeting Jin’s eyes across the scant distance, “tell me to stop.”  
  
His hand squeezes a little, gently. A promise.  
  
This time it’s Jin who closes the gap.  
  
That’s it. Leave it to Kame to know what to do. Leave it to Kame to figure him out before he figured himself out. He always hated that, always hated how Kame was always right and knew he was right, but now he doesn’t care. When Kame’s hand shifts from Jin’s thigh to palm him though borrowed sweatpants, he makes a desperate little noise and feels his legs spread, pressing himself more firmly against Kame’s hand. Leave it to Kame.  
  
Kame shifts to his knees and swings a leg over so that he’s straddling Jin, scattering hot kisses across his cheekbones from above. Jin arches into the touch, and as he does so he feels the bulge in Kame’s jeans pressing against his stomach.  
  
That’s new.  
  
Kame’s breath shivers a bit over his lips when he lets his hands fall onto Kame’s thighs, and he can still feel him, the hardness growing gradually more pronounced. Kame’s tongue is hot and soft, and he can taste the bitter remains of that dark beer Kame was drinking at the bar. He runs his hands up Kame’s thighs and grabs him by the hips, pulling him closer and feeling the shudder, the little strangled sound of need as Kame’s tongue falters against his.  
  
“I want to fuck you,” Kame breathes, kissing him again long and hard. “Do you mind?”  
  
 _Want_. It reaches him low in his belly, and Jin’s eyes fall closed. Wanting. Being wanted. Jin doesn’t even have to think about it, doesn’t even want to think about it. He just wants Kame to keep touching him, anywhere, everywhere. He grabs a handful of Kame’s hair and tilts his chin up, shoves his tongue into Kame’s mouth again, pulse tripping when he feels Kame’s breath hitch. “It’s fine,” he mumbles through teeth and lips “Do that.”  
  
“Good,” Kame says.  
  
Kame drags Jin’s t-shirt off over his head before pulling Jin to his feet and kissing him again, and as his soft hands clutch at Jin’s bare shoulder blades Jin thinks again how long it’s been since anyone’s touched him like this. As he slides his hands into the back pockets of Kame’s jeans and pulls their hips together, feeling Kame again, right there, he shivers a little. No one has ever touched him like this.  
  
Kame’s fingers are pushing at the waistband of Jin’s sweats by the time they stumble through the bedroom door, but he has to let go when Jin tugs Kame’s shirt up over his arms, and then Kame’s working on his own jeans and his hair is sticking up and Jin shoves his pants down and kicks them off, the boxers too. He watches the moonlight from the bedroom window skating over Kame’s lean shoulders, and then Kame tackles him to the bed, and there’s so much skin. So much heat, and nothing between them anywhere. His dick is pressed against Kame’s stomach and Kame’s hand is on his thigh and his tongue is in Jin’s mouth again and it’s all so unfamiliar but it’s exactly what he wants, and he wonders when it started, why the hell he’s never wanted it before. When Kame’s hand closes around him, he jerks upward with a sound like “please,” and Kame strokes him and kisses his neck and Jin has never felt warmer.  
  
“Turn over,” Kame murmurs in his ear, and Jin does, because it’s easy and it’s what he wants, it’s why he came here. Kame spreads himself over him, kissing his shoulderblades and reaching for something off to the side, from the nightstand. For a while it’s all like a dream, all touch and sensation and no thought, like tomorrow he’ll wake up and he’ll be someplace else, but he doesn’t want tomorrow, he wants this. When Kame’s fingers slide between his cheeks, cool and slick, it’s strange. He breathes in the strange, buries his face in the mattress and wriggles against it, and soon it’s good. Soon it’s warm and hot and no one has  _ever_  touched him like that. He never knew he wanted them to. And he’s not afraid. He should be afraid, but he’s not, and maybe it’s the beer, or maybe it’s just that he’s been waiting for this.  
  
The fingers disappear, and then it’s Kame sliding inside him. It’s hard and hot and strange, and for a moment it’s too much. He can’t breathe, and the stretch seems to go on forever, and it’s still going. Kame’s sticky hand is beside him on the duvet and Jin reaches for it, clutches at it, biting his lip and wondering when it stops.  
  
“It’s okay,” Kame says, and his voice is strained, balanced precariously on the edge of something—but he stills, and then it is. It’s okay. “Breathe and it’ll be okay. I won’t hurt you.”  
  
Jin breathes and tries to tell his muscles to relax. Kame just stays there, waiting, not moving, his fingers scratching lightly at the base of Jin’s neck. It helps a lot. When the panic subsides, Jin imagines Kame sprawled over him like this, Kame’s face flushed and wanting under dark hair, worrying his lip between his teeth while he waits for Jin to be ready again. A warm flush spreads over him from everywhere that they touch, and he spreads his legs a little wider. Because it’s not scary anymore. Kame wants him. He wants this.  
  
“It’s fine,” Jin says. “Keep going. I’m fine.”  
  
Kame lets a breath out a little too quickly, and then Jin feels him again. It still goes on forever, deeper than he thought anything could go, but he just keeps breathing. And Kame was right. Kame is always right.  
  
He feels it when Kame’s hips are flush against him, hears Kame’s sigh, feels him collapse just far enough to run his hot mouth along Jin’s shoulder blade again, and it’s so impossibly close. Kame’s weight, the way his every trembling breath moves directly through Jin. No one has ever touched him like this.  
  
“I always wanted to do this,” Kame hums against his spine. “I never thought you’d let me.”  
  
Jin grins a little, half-dazed. “Me neither.” But the grin slips into a shudder when Kame pulls back slightly and rocks his hips against him, and it’s strange and a little bit incredible.  
  
“You like that?” Kame says. He’s trying for smug, but Jin can hear him fighting to stay afloat over the flood of sensation. Jin nods against the duvet.  
  
“Do it again,” he says, and stifles his gasp against the mattress when Kame complies, stronger this time.  
  
The movements are a bit jerky and awkward at first, but soon one of Kame’s hands finds its way between Jin’s chest and the mattress and Kame grasps his shoulder, anchoring himself and finding a steady rhythm. Jin feels Kame’s every breath, cool against his shoulder as Kame presses open-mouthed kisses to his skin, sucking not quite hard enough to leave a mark near the base of his neck. Jin tilts his hips up just slightly into the thrusts and Kame sighs into his back, his free hand slipping from Jin’s fingers and clutching at his hip as he speeds up suddenly. Jin presses his face into the mattress and breathes, and it doesn’t hurt, it feels amazing. Kame feels strong and safe against him, and he wishes he could see his face when he makes those sounds, when his hips jerk hard on the last few strokes, when he comes inside of him with a shudder.  
  
Kame collapses against Jin’s back. The fullness fades gradually, slips away, and Jin still feels every breath, each little kiss against his ribcage, warm and wet. After a few long moments, Kame’s arm slides out from underneath him as Kame rolls to the side, still panting, his eyes unfocused and blinking in the dim light. Jin’s never seen him so undone. It’s quite a sight.  
  
Kame takes a long, hard breath in through his nose when Jin kisses him again, just holds him there, with one hand tangled in Kame’s hair. For a moment it’s like there’s nothing outside this room, this apartment, and he can’t remember whether there are plants in the living room or not, can’t see in this light whether Kame’s hair is red or black, but it doesn’t matter because he tastes like Kame, and he feels like Kame, and he smells like sex and Kame.  
  
There’s an obnoxious buzzing sound from out in the hall, and Kame snorts a laugh into the kiss. Jin pulls back just a little bit, finds Kame grinning up at him, nibbling at his lower lip.  
  
“Sounds like your pants are done,” Kame says.  
  
Jin grins back. His fingers are still in Kame’s hair, and it doesn’t even occur to him to actually get up. “Yeah. Guess so.”  
  
“Did you put them on the high heat setting or the medium setting?”  
  
“No idea,” Jin says. “I just pressed the button.”  
  
“I had a load of gentle-cycle stuff in there last, so it was probably set on the low setting,” Kame says. “I should probably—”  
  
Jin stops him easily when he tries to roll up to sit, kisses him before he can start babbling again. Kame shuts up, and after a moment Jin feels Kame’s fingers in his hair too, gentler than before. He was never really rough, but this is something else. Something softer. Kame’s gentle cycle, Jin thinks, grinning a little bit stupidly. He wants more of this.  
  
When he pulls back again Kame has forgotten about the laundry, but there’s something in his eyes that Jin finds confusing. He looks almost sad.  
  
“Hey,” Jin says. “You okay?” It seems weird for him to be asking Kame that, all things considered. But Jin feels fine and Kame’s the one who looks troubled right now, so that’s the way it is.  
  
Kame smiles, but it’s a little bit bittersweet. “I’m fine,” he says. “I’m really good. Thanks. How are you?”  
  
“I’m good,” Jin says, and feels absurdly like they’ve just started the entire evening’s conversation over again, like they’ve just walked into the bar. Then he slumps down onto the mattress again and huffs out a breath. “Kind of sleepy though,” he admits.  
  
He feels Kame pick up the hand still resting on Kame’s chest, gently playing with his fingers like they’re the moving pieces on a figurine. Curling them around his own and then drawing Jin’s hand close enough to press a kiss to each one of his knuckles. Uncurling them again one-by-one and running his own fingertips along them.  
  
“You can stay here if you want,” Kame says.  
  
Jin stops breathing for a moment, and Kame’s hand stops moving over his, feeling his stillness. When Kame sets his hand back down on the mattress between them, Jin opens his eyes again. Kame is looking back at him like he already knows the answer.  
  
“I can’t,” he says. “I have to get back.”  
  
Kame’s acquiescent smile says he guessed right. Kame doesn’t say any more than that.  
  
After a few moments, Kame rolls toward him again. Presses a soft, warm kiss to the back of Jin’s shoulder as his weight settles half on top of him, pressing Jin into the mattress. Jin hums pleasantly, drinking in the warmth, feeling fingertips stroking his hip, warm breath on the shell of his ear.  
  
When Kame’s fingertips curl underneath Jin’s hipbone, Jin arches upwards, pressing back against him to make room. Jin bites the pillowcase when Kame’s hand closes around him, and there’s a needy little whine as he starts stroking gently, pressing a kiss against Jin’s shoulder, and then sliding down a little further to the middle of Jin’s back.  
  
“Turn over,” Kame says again, and it’s softer this time.  
  
“Bossy,” Jin murmurs, but he complies. And the sight of Kame looming over him in the moonlight with his hand wrapped around Jin’s cock, bending down to press a warm, wet kiss against Jin’s lower abdomen, just about makes his heart stop.  
  
“At least you finally started listening,” Kame says, and before Jin can even begin to think of a suitable comeback he bends low and takes Jin into his mouth.  
  
It’s hot, and Kame knows what he’s doing. It’s been ages, but Jin can tell that, can feel that in the way Kame’s tongue moves, the way he sucks back so hard it makes Jin’s eyes slide shut, his head thrown back as his breath trips over itself in his throat. He thinks he whispers Kame’s name over and over, but he can’t even hear himself. He tries to keep his eyes open because the sight of Kame there between his legs, with one hand tight on Jin’s hip and the other wrapped around his dick is too good, too strange, too amazing to miss.  
  
He feels his hips thrusting upwards into Kame’s mouth, his head sometimes bumping the back of Kame’s throat as everything coils low in Jin’s belly, and he’s sweating, his fingers twisting in the sheets. It doesn’t take him long at all to get close. Months and he hasn’t even wanted it, but now suddenly he needs it, and it’s so good, so sharp, so warm around and inside him, everywhere. When Kame sucks back hard again, it snaps, and Kame just drinks him in, not even flinching, never letting go.  
  
When his muscles go slack and the last shockwaves are flowing over him, making his skin and his mind all tingly and warm, he gropes for Kame’s arm and drags him up the length of his body, pulling him off balance so that Kame falls gracelessly against his chest. When Jin kisses him, he can taste himself on Kame’s tongue. When his clumsy hands patting and groping at Kame’s head accidently box his ears, Kame laughs a little and pulls back, shifting to support his own weight on his elbows.  
  
“That’s the other thing I always wanted to do,” Kame says. Then he ducks to trail kisses down Jin’s chin and along his throat, making Jin twitch when he gently nips at his collarbone.  
  
“That’s mean,” Jin accuses with a vague frown, but Kame just chuckles again. A nice kind of evil.  
  
Kame shifts one leg out from between Jin’s and settles his weight beside him on the mattress, resting his head on Jin’s shoulder and his arm across Jin’s chest. The pleasant weight of Kame’s thigh over his reminds him of the photo album, but Kame’s breath against his sweaty skin is entirely new. Kame’s fingers trace lazy patterns along Jin’s side until they find his hand again, lace them together. It’s quiet for a long time, and Jin lets his eyes fall closed, just breathing against Kame’s warm weight. Easier than he has in weeks.  
  
The dryer buzzes again, and Jin opens his eyes to stare at the ceiling. This time Kame doesn’t laugh.  
  
“I should probably go,” Jin says.  
  
Kame doesn’t say anything, but Jin feels him nod against his chest. They lie there for a little while longer before either of them actually musters the initiative to move.  
  
It’s Kame who finally pulls away, rolls up to sit. He scoots over to the edge of the bed and just stays there for a minute, with his back to Jin. Jin watches as he lifts a hand and rubs it over his face roughly, then drags it through his hair, not so much straightening it out as messing it up in a slightly different way.  
  
“I should go…” Kame says, lifting a hand to gesture back at the hallway, toward the dryer. He pushes himself off the bed and starts walking toward the door. Pauses halfway as though thinking twice about something. After a brief glance around, he grabs his boxer briefs up off the floor and steps into them. He doesn’t look at Jin as he disappears into the hallway.  
  
Jin pushes himself up to sit, slides his feet off the bed and stands up. His legs feel a little wobbly, which wasn’t so noticeable when he was lying down, but now he has to put a hand against the wall and shift a bit, trying to find his balance again. He finds his own boxers and pulls them on, then looks for his t-shirt and the sweatpants. The sweatpants are there, crumpled on the floor beside the dresser, but his t-shirt is nowhere to be found—must still be in the living room. He folds up the sweatpants and places them on the foot of the bed.  
  
Kame comes back with Jin’s jeans, Jin’s t-shirt hanging over his arm. “Here,” he says, and Jin takes them from him. “They’re still a little damp, but they should be okay. I told you the low setting wasn’t hot enough.” There’s no sting behind it, but no smile either, and Kame’s not looking at him, just standing there holding one elbow with the other hand and glancing around like he’s looking for something. When he spots the sweatpants on the bed, he snatches them up. He hesitates for a moment, like he’s not sure what to do with them but he knows they need to go somewhere. In the end he unfolds them and puts them on himself.  
  
Jin finishes pulling on the t-shirt and follows Kame back out to the living room. He finds his jacket on the hook where he left it and shrugs it on, dawdles a little bit as he pulls on his shoes. Kame is standing there, leaning against the back of the couch and still not looking at him, and there’s that little frown wrinkling his brow that Jin doesn’t like. He wonders if it’ll be another five years before they speak again. He wonders if Kame is wondering the same thing.  
  
“Thanks,” Jin says awkwardly, gesturing toward the room, and even he wonders what he means. The dryer? The sex? The beer?  
  
But Kame just nods. “No problem. Thanks for coming.”  
  
“Sure,” Jin says. He still doesn’t leave.  
  
Kame looks subdued again, and Jin doesn’t like it. He wants to ask what’s wrong, but the words stick in his throat.  
  
Then suddenly Kame pushes off from the couch and crosses the space between them in two steps, thudding against Jin’s chest and kissing him hard. His arms are around Jin’s neck and it’s a little bit desperate. Not like before, not like he’s about to drag him back into the bedroom—just hanging on. Jin hangs on too, because he doesn’t want to let go yet. Not quite yet.  
  
When Kame finally settles back, his hands stroke over Jin’s cheeks for just a moment, and he presses red, swollen lips together in a tight line, trying for a smile. “See you later,” he says, but it sounds more like “goodbye.”  
  
Jin nods. He only holds Kame’s gaze a little longer before he turns away. Pulls open the door and steps out into the hallway. Back into the quiet.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Jin’s keys crash like thunder when he drops them on the dining table, and he flinches with the urge to muffle the sound. But there’s nobody here to hear it. Nobody but Jin and the unquiet voices in his head.  
  
He unzips his jacket as he walks through to the bedroom, tosses it on his side of the bed. The t-shirt, the jeans, all the rest follows, and then he goes in and turns on the shower. Hopes it will heat up before he gets cold. He catches his naked reflection in the mirror, but tries not to look at himself. As soon as the water is at a tolerable temperature, he steps in.  
  
Bodywash first, a big glob of it worked into a lather, and he scrubs his skin raw. Every inch of it, until he can’t smell anything but himself and the familiar ocean breeze scent that Meisa likes. Shampoo next, twice through, washing Kame’s fingers away, and then the bodywash again, because he can still feel it. He can still feel him. Everywhere.  
  
After a while he just stands still under the stream, letting it beat at his shoulders and rinse away the last of the lather, sticking his hair to his face in dripping tendrils.  
  
He thought about it, once. Not like this—not in detail—not even seriously, just…once. A long time ago, ten years at least. Some party he can’t even remember—he blacked out the last half of it with tequila, but somewhere in the latter stages of the first half, the part he can still remember, he thought about it. There was a game or something, and there was Kame, and for a moment he wondered what it would be like to kiss him. What he would taste like. If guys tasted different from girls. If Kame tasted different from other guys. If Kame tasted different from everyone. He knew Kame was into guys, and sometimes when he was drunk he thought about quizzing him, but there was only the one time he thought about finding out for himself. Though maybe there were more of them cloaked in tequila. He never thought so, but now he wonders.  
  
He brushes a hand over his chest where Kame held him so tight, and he can still feel it. Kame moving against him, his fingertips digging into his skin like he can’t possibly get close enough, and he  _misses_  it.  
  
He’s never cheated on Meisa before. Even in his mind the word makes him flinch. He always thought he wasn’t that kind of guy, like it was something you were born with or you weren’t. The cheating gene. He’s never even thought about it. Sure, he’s looked sometimes, but that’s not remotely the same thing. Everybody looks. Meisa probably looks. Not everybody does this.  
  
He suddenly wonders if Kame used a condom. He didn’t notice—he was distracted—and he’s not sure he would know the difference by feel alone. But it was Kame. Kame is responsible, and he knows Jin is…  
  
God.  
  
He should probably get himself checked, just to be safe. Not that he thinks Kame would have—or like he and Meisa are currently—but, well. He’d never forgive himself. On top of everything.  
  
He runs a hand through his soaking wet hair and it gets caught halfway. Just stays there.  
  
He has no idea how long he stays there. Probably maxes out their water quota for the month.  
  
When he finally gets out, he dries himself as thoroughly as he washed himself. He avoids his own gaze in the steamy mirror as he wraps the towel around his hips and brushes his teeth. Because Kame was there too.  
  
The air in the bedroom is chilly compared to the bathroom, and he quickly hunts up fresh underwear, sweats, and a clean t-shirt. He throws all his clothes from the day in the hamper, including the jacket, and tries to shove them down to the bottom, bury them under Meisa’s harmless leggings and blouses and socks. He turns away toward the living room—then falters, glancing back at the hamper. On second thought, he picks the whole thing up and takes it through to the laundry machine. He has to read the instructions to make sure he won’t accidentally shrink any of Meisa’s things, but he dumps it all in there with plenty of detergent and starts the machine, returning the empty hamper to the bedroom.  
  
The machine rumbles quietly in the background as he walks into the kitchen and digs through the refrigerator for a beer. Just as he’s about to pop the cap off, he thinks better of it—puts it back in the fridge and reaches up on top of the freezer instead, pulling away cracker boxes and bags of pretzels until he can get to the cabinet behind it. He pulls down a half-bottle of Irish whiskey and grabs a glass—there are fancy ones for this kind of stuff somewhere, but he can’t remember where Meisa put them, so he just takes the first one he finds, a water glass with a logo from some hotel in Hakone half peeled off from the dishwasher. He pours up probably more than he should have, but he drinks it anyway. It hits the back of his throat like fire, and he winces and shakes his head. The persistent headache above his right eye is throbbing to life again, and he knows the alcohol is only going to make it worse, but he drinks again. He drinks until he’s finished the glass, and then he pours himself another.  
  
When the tightness in his chest finally starts to recede beneath the dull humming of his mind, he takes the mostly empty glass with him over to the couch and crawls on top of it, setting the glass on the coffee table. He buries his face in one of the throw pillows and squeezes his eyes shut. He tries not to feel Kame on top of him, his warm breath against Jin’s ear. He tries to make it go away.  
  
The smell of them is gone, and even the questions and the guilt fade gradually as he drinks himself into a stupor—but even as he falls asleep, he can still feel Kame’s warm hand in his.


	6. Chapter 6

When Jin wakes up, the first thing he sees is his hand and Kame’s, their fingers still tangled loosely together on top of the blankets. He follows the line of Kame’s arm up to where his t-shirt is scrunched up at his shoulder, and where his cheek is a little red from being pressed against the pillow in the same position all night. His eyes are still closed and his jaw is all slack and his hair is falling in his face, and Jin suddenly feels like hugging him so hard he could crush him. If it weren’t for the stitches, he might try it.  
  
The dream catches up with him slowly, in snatches, warm kisses and sweaty skin, words that feel like goodbye and Kame’s quiet laughter against his lips, against his bare chest. Kame against and around and inside him, everywhere. The back of his neck prickles as some of the more illicit sensations drift to the surface. And it’s silly, he knows, because it’s not like he doesn’t know what this is, or what they’ve been to each other—but he can’t  _remember_ , and that’s almost the same as not knowing. But this…this he can remember. He can remember it so well it almost feels real. Maybe some of it even is, echoing to him from beyond the white haze.  
  
Kame’s eyes blink open, and Jin watches them with fascination, all dark and glazed over. So relaxed. His fingers curl around Jin’s and he scoots a little bit closer. Not closing the distance, just edging toward him in half-sleep, like it’s the most natural thing ever, and Jin can’t help smiling a little bit.  
  
“Morning,” Kame mumbles, his eyes falling closed again. His throat moves as he shifts, swallowing the night.  
  
“Morning,” Jin says.  
  
Kame’s brows draw inward at the sound of Jin’s voice, like he’s trying to remember something. Then he remembers, and his eyes open again. Wide awake.  
  
He blinks at Jin’s face, takes in the narrowed distance, glances down at their hands, at his jeans, at his feet on top of the covers. He pulls in a little breath and sits up, tries to move away, and Jin thinks,  _no, no, not this again, stop it_. But he can’t quite say it. And when Kame slides his hand out of Jin’s grip, Jin lets him.  
  
Kame scrubs at his hair and yawns, still glancing around the room like he’s the one who’s lost his memory and he’s not sure what he’s doing here.  
  
“What time is it?” he mumbles, though he’s not really making a very competent effort to find the clock looking up at the ceiling like that. “I should make breakfast. I need a shower.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Jin says. “You can relax for a while. It’s not like we’ve got anything to do today.”  
  
“No, it’s—I should—I’ve just got to get breakfast ready.” He pushes himself off the bed and staggers slightly as he tries to find his footing. He pulls out the wrong drawer on the first try, gets it right on the second try and digs out a fresh set of clothes. Just as he’s about to lock himself in the bathroom, he stops, glances back. His eyes are still a little wide and unfocused.  
  
“Do you need to get in here? Before I shower, I mean?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says. “Go ahead.”  
  
Jin watches him nod, then disappear into the bathroom. Listens for the water running in the shower, the sound of the glass door rattling on its track. Remembers Kame naked in the moonlight and blushes again, really wishes he could roll over onto his stomach and bury his face in the pillow because wow…some fucking dream…  
  
Then he remembers biting the pillowcase when Kame’s hand closed around him and he thinks maybe lying on his side is good.  
  
After Kame finishes in the shower, Jin washes up as well and takes his morning constitutional around the living room. Doctor’s orders. According to his instructions to Kame, part of the reason Jin’s muscles are still so sore is because the coma kept him immobile for three days after surgery. If he’d been able to get up and move around even a little bit in those first few days, his muscles would have started to recover more quickly, and he wouldn’t feel quite so much like his great-great-uncle Hotaka right now. In theory, the actual incisions should be mostly healed by now, and even though it hurts like hell sometimes he should feel better if he can gradually work the strength back into his body.  
  
 _No grapefruit_ , Jin recites to himself as he makes his slow circles at the periphery of the room.  _No alcohol._  Occasionally he sneaks a glance at Kame, all fresh and clean and humming over a pot of miso, his hair still damp from the shower.  
  
 _No sex for seven weeks._  
  
“Soup’s on!” Kame says with a cheerful smile as he sets down their bowls at the table. Jin stares a little, but Kame doesn’t notice, is already rushing back into the kitchen to dish up the rice.  
  
When Kame joins him at the table he starts talking about his plans for the day. He wants to run a couple of errands in the morning, something he forgot when he went out yesterday, and he’s wondering if Jin needs anything. Whatever it was that threw Kame for a loop when he woke up that morning seems to have washed off in the shower, because he seems slightly giddy, and not in that forced way he used to be, like he was trying too hard to make everything okay. Like it kind of almost actually is okay.  
  
Unfortunately, seeing him like this is just making Jin feel more flustered. Kame doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
When there’s a lull in the conversation, it’s a pleasant one. Jin keeps catching Kame smiling at him over the rim of his soup bowl when he thinks Jin isn’t looking. Jin only catches him because he keeps sneaking looks at Kame too.  
  
“What?” Kame says, when this time he’s the one who catches Jin.  
  
Jin gives him a faltering smile. “Nothing,” he says, and ducks his head to take another mouthful of rice. Kame goes back to his soup, and Jin watches him sipping at the mild broth. Kame’s eyes blink up again curiously. Caught again.  
  
“I like your hair dark like that,” Jin says. “It’s really…striking.”  
  
Hot, he wants to say, but chickens out. Kame grins anyway, like Jin’s just given him an early Christmas present.  
  
“Thanks,” he says. “I liked it better red myself, but it’s such a hassle to keep dying the roots. Anyway, seems like half the dramas I’m in these days want it black, so…” He shrugs.  
  
“Well it looks good on you.”  
  
Kame’s grin softens a little bit, and he nibbles at the corner of his lip. “You too,” he says, pointing at Jin’s dark hair with his chopsticks. “I’ve always been glad you made it safely through the blonde phase.”  
  
Jin kicks at him under the table. “Like it looked any better on you.”  
  
Kame laughs.  
  
“I won’t argue with that…”  
  
*      *      *  
  
They play cards after dinner, a rowdy game that results in Kame clearing all the breakables from the dining table, just in case. A few times they get so noisy and competitive that Jin worries they’ll have neighbors banging down their front door any minute—but whoever lives nearby must either be deaf or well accustomed to periodic growls and shouts of victory, because no one interrupts.  
  
When Jin tries and fails to hide a deep yawn behind his hand, Kame starts to tidy up the cards.  
  
“Hey,” Jin protests, “I was winning.”  
  
“Why do you think I’m sending you to bed?”  
  
“Sore loser,” he accuses, but doesn’t prevent Kame from sliding the cards back into the box and putting them away in a drawer in the end table. Jin pushes himself slowly to his feet and stretches carefully. His muscles are actually starting to feel a little better. Sore still, but not so weak anymore, like he wouldn’t be able to catch himself if he fell. It would fucking  _hurt_ , but he’d catch himself. He might even be able to start sleeping on his stomach again soon.  
  
As Jin turns and wanders toward the hallway to the bedroom, he notices Kame isn’t following him. He stops, glances around, and finds Kame pulling out the stack of bedding he’s been keeping over by the bookshelf, starting to lay out the couch for himself.  
  
“Hey.” Jin frowns.  
  
“Hm?” Kame doesn’t stop working.  
  
“You don’t…you don’t have to do that. I told you, it’s…we can share the bed. It’s fine.”  
  
Kame’s hands go still and he looks up. The sudden focus makes Jin blush again, and he feels like an idiot, because it shouldn’t be  _that_  complicated.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
 _Yes_ , Jin thinks irritably.  _I want you there. Stop making me say it._  But he just nods in a manner that he hopes looks firm and decided even though he’s hiding his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. When Kame still hesitates, Jin lets out a breath, lowers his shoulders a little and tries a smile. “I told you,” he says. “It’s your bed too.”  
  
Kame looks at him for a moment longer. Then he smiles back a little nervously, and nods.  
  
They take turns in the bathroom getting changed and washing up. Kame emerges in boxers and a t-shirt just as Jin is easing himself under the covers. Kame walks over to the side of the bed in sort of a weird, inefficient weave, and Jin wonders what he’s doing until he realizes Kame is debating whether he ought to sleep on top of the covers or underneath them this time. Kame is an idiot.  
  
“Hop in,” Jin says, flipping down the covers on Kame’s side of the bed. “You’re making my feet cold just watching you.”  
  
Kame half-grins and accepts the invitation, climbing onto the mattress but staying way over by the edge, just close enough that he won’t actually fall off. When he turns off the light and adjusts himself to lie down, he settles on his back, straight as an arrow, with his hands folded over his stomach. Jin slides down beside him and curls up on his side, rumpling the covers around his chest. As he watches Kame’s profile stealthily in the dark, he wonders what would happen if he leaned over to kiss him goodnight. If Kame would like that, or if it would freak him out. If Jin would like it, or if it would just feel awkward. If he’d lose his balance trying to hold himself up with weakened muscles, or Kame would jump so hard he actually would fall off the bed.  
  
Maybe better not to risk it.  
  
“Goodnight, Kame,” he says instead, and watches Kame’s lips curve, his eyes flick over in Jin’s direction.  
  
“Goodnight, Jin.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
His head beats like a drum and there’s something small and squeaky shrieking in his ear. Worst band  _ever_. He wishes Kame would turn the damn clock radio off and go make breakfast or clean the oven or organize his stamp collection or whatever the hell it is he set the alarm so early to do and leave him to sleep.  
  
“ _Daddy!_ ”  
  
That one finally gets through, and suddenly Jin is very awake. His head is still pounding and his heart is catching up, and now he’s the one on the couch, and there’s a patch of drool sticking the cushion to the side of his face, and he hopes he hasn’t been talking in his sleep.  
  
Kana pats him on the cheek with her little fingers and he winces inward when it feels like a sledgehammer. He blinks a couple of times, tries to focus on something past the end of his nose.  
  
“Daddy? Your breath stinks.”  
  
 _Thanks, sweetheart_ , he thinks. And then he notices the mostly empty glass of Irish whiskey on the coffee table and he remembers why his head hurts and sits up suddenly, trying not to breathe on her too much. His head spins from the sudden change of altitude and he has to grab the back of the couch to steady himself, close his eyes for a moment to make sure he doesn’t puke on her either.  
  
When he opens his eyes again, there’s Meisa, standing just beyond the end of the couch with her arms crossed over her chest and her lips pressed into a thin line. Not happy. Not saying anything, but not happy.  
  
She has no idea.  
  
Jin blinks what he intends to be an apology, but what he fears comes out more as dumbstruck silence. Then he realizes Kana is still talking to him and turns his attention to her. As he nods along intently over the story of the new game Kana and her cousins invented, he sees Meisa retrieve the glass from the coffee table and take it away to dump the last of the liquor in the sink. Over Kana’s head he watches her putting the whisky bottle back in the cabinet above the refrigerator, which he’s left wide open, and stacking the cracker boxes and pretzels neatly in front of it again.  
  
Shit.  
  
“And there was this bowling pin thing that we didn’t know what it was for, so Yukio said we should hide it somewhere and whoever found it first would lose points.”  
  
Jin isn’t sure where points came into the equation or how a game in which the motivation is  _not_  to find something is supposed to work, but he nods and smiles, still blinking a little too frequently because his eyes feel all scratchy. “That’s awesome, kiddo. Who won?”  
  
“Yukio,” Kana sighs.  
  
 _Of course he did_ , Jin thinks,  _he hid the bowling pin_. But he pats her on the head and wishes her better luck next time and that seems to cheer her up in an instant.  
  
He wonders when that stopped being possible. When a single touch, a single word, stopped being enough to make everything better again. When he stopped being the good guy and became his own worst enemy.  
  
When Kana scurries off to her room to unpack her “suitcase” from her overnight stay, Jin sags back against the couch again and closes his eyes. He feels like shit. His hair is all lank and rumpled because he slept on it immediately after getting out of the shower, and his skin feels raw and vulnerable from the way he scrubbed at it. He can still feel Kame everywhere, even after a night on the couch and enough whisky to kill a small child. He’s still not sure whether he wants that to go away too, or if he wants to hold onto it for as long as it lasts.  
  
Only the smell of coffee, hot and strong, drags his eyes open again.  
  
He finds Meisa standing at his knee and holding a warm mug just a few inches from his nose. For a moment he’s afraid she’s going to dump it in his lap, and he knows he’d deserve it.  
  
But Meisa wouldn’t do that, even if she knew. Meisa’s good like that. Not like him. Meisa finds him passed out on the couch with liquor sitting out in kid-accessible areas of the house and she doesn’t say anything. She cleans up his mess and makes him coffee.  
  
“Thank you,” he manages, taking the cup in his hands and testing out a sip, careful not to burn his tongue.  
  
Meisa nods, sits down in the armchair by the far end of the couch and picks up her own cup from the coaster.  
  
Jin takes a few more sips, holds onto the heat and the familiar bitter flavor. Their first date was over coffee. He complained that his was too weak, and she told him she could make it better. Straight up, no frills, just the way he likes it. She’s made it that way for him ever since.  
  
His mind aches with lingering impressions of Kame, and he’s having trouble sorting out which ones are real and which ones aren’t, but it doesn’t matter that much. The ones that make him a bastard are real. He knows that.  
  
“Sorry,” he says. She thinks he means the liquor, and he does, but not just that. “I sort of overdid it.”  
  
She nods again, takes a sip of her coffee. “It’s alright.”  
  
It’s  _so_  not alright. She has no idea.  
  
This has to stop. He has to make it stop, whatever it takes. He has to make things better again.  
  
“I was thinking,” he says, after a few more sips of silence. “I could watch Kana during the day. While you’re working. Not all the days, but maybe two—maybe three days a week. I could make it work.”  
  
When he looks over at her, Meisa is watching him with eyebrows slightly raised. He doesn’t think she looks suspicious—just surprised.  
  
“I thought you were working on the album,” she says.  
  
“I was. I am,” he corrects himself. “But…I’m making good progress now, and I think I could make it work. Most of the time. I have to be in the studio some starting next week, but I can manage it. I’ll figure it out. I like spending time with her and…you were right.” He sighs, and at least this part he knows isn’t a lie. “You’re right. I haven’t been keeping up my end of the deal.”  
  
Meisa lowers the coffee cup from her lips and leans forward to rest her elbows on her knees. When he gets up the courage to glance over at her again, it’s the warmest look she’s given him in months, and he feels like shit because he knows exactly how much he doesn’t deserve it.  
  
“Okay,” she says finally. “Thanks. I’d really appreciate it if you could make that work.”  
  
Oh, he’ll make it work alright. He will definitely make it work. He’ll make it work if it kills him.  
  
*      *      *  
  
For once, Jin is actually making a little bit of progress. It would be easier at the computer, and there’s a limit to how far he can get without the rest of his equipment—but he’s got a tablet perched on the couch beside him, one earbud in so he can hear the beat properly, and his guitar is on his knee while he strums out chords and plays around with the melody. His notebook is balanced on the arm of the couch beside him, and he’s got a pencil stuck through the stubby little ponytail keeping his hair back from his eyes. When he hits a good sequence, he jots it down.  
  
“Daddy?”  
  
“In a second, kiddo,” he mumbles as he writes down another chord. He has to blink a few times just to get the page in focus. The morning’s coffee is quickly wearing off, leaving his brain about as useful as a wet sponge. Probably time for a fresh pot. He made a full one while he was putting together Kana’s breakfast, but Meisa drank half of it, and he polished off the rest by around ten-thirty. He’s still not quite used to waking up to his alarm every day—it always leaves him feeling a little off-balance, like somebody jolted him with an electric current and he keeps getting random aftershocks every hour or so. Doesn’t help that the alarm goes off at seven-fucking-thirty.  
  
“Daddy, I want to make brownies…”  
  
He erases a couple of scribbled chord names that are so sloppily written he knows even he won’t be able to read them later and rewrites them more neatly.  
  
“In a bit, okay,” he says, strumming back one of the chords just to check it’s the one he thought it was. “Daddy’s busy.”  
  
“But I want—”  
  
“Just  _wait_ , Kana,” he repeats, and there’s an itch between his shoulderblades and he’s trying to get this damn thing written down before it falls out of his spongy, sluggish head. “Do something else for a while. I have to get this done.”  
  
He can hear her muttering to herself as she stomps away, but there’s only room for one train of thought in here at a time and—damn. What was that sequence again? Leading into the bridge, it sounded great a second ago…  
  
He jams the pencil back into his hair, wincing when he accidently jabs himself in the scalp, and tries to play back what he’s written down so he can fill in the blanks.  
  
He hasn’t contacted Kame again since that night. Kame hasn’t contacted him either. Meisa asked about the laundry in the machine that afternoon, because usually that chore falls to her, but he just told her he spilled something and thought he should get it cleaned up before the stain set. After that, it was as if nothing had happened at all. Mostly he tries not to think about it. Maybe that was what he needed to get his act together and start seeing things from her point of view. Maybe that was him hitting rock-bottom.  
  
Although that’s not really what it felt like at the time.  
  
The dreams don’t make things any easier. Even if he doesn’t leave himself time to think of Kame when he’s awake, Kame is everywhere around him when he sleeps. Cooking for him, worrying about him, snapping at him for putting his feet up on the coffee table when he’s just finished cleaning. Sleeping next to him, always at a respectful distance. But rarely out of arm’s reach.  
  
Jin tries not to sleep too much.  
  
His head throbs again, and he can’t tell whether it means he’s had too much coffee or not enough. The way his eyes are blinking at the page again as he tries to pencil in another missing chord, he’s inclined to think the latter. Unless caffeine is supposed to dry out your eyeballs, which he’s not sure, maybe it does. Maybe he should pick up some eye drops at the drugstore tomorrow morning on his way back from dropping Kana off at daycare.  
  
About twenty alarm clocks’ worth of adrenaline slams his system when he hears a huge crash from the kitchen.  
  
Jin drops the guitar on the couch and lurches to his feet, nearly dragging the tablet to the floor as he bolts across the room. He smacks his elbow against the doorframe as he skids to a halt and just barely manages to stifle a curse.  
  
Kana is sitting on the counter, stranded above a sea of jagged glass fragments that cover the floor and the seat of the chair she apparently used to climb up there. One of the cupboards is open, and based on the remaining contents and a few of the larger chunks on the floor, Jin deduces that the casualty is one of Meisa’s expensive glass baking pans.  
  
 _Son-of-a-fucking bitch, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me_ , his mind snarls, because his mouth can’t.  
  
“Don’t move,” he orders, and his heart’s beating a mile a minute because there’s the glass and if she loses her balance—the fall would be enough, but with the glass—he’s got to do something. He dashes around to the front hall and grabs a pair of boots with sturdy soles, shoving his feet into them as he hops back over to the kitchen entrance, and then he steps carefully into the field of glass, wincing when he hears a few pieces grinding under his feet. Once he’s close enough, he wraps her tightly in his arms and holds on, trying to see the floor over her shoulder. He turns very slowly, one step at a time, because the pieces are slippery against the floor, and if he loses his balance it will  _not_  be a pretty sight. Then he carefully walks them back over to the kitchen doorway, past the outer reaches of the wreckage.  
  
When he no longer feels the glass fragments under his feet, he shifts her weight in his arms and sets her down firmly on the living room side of the door. Finally able to breathe again, he straightens up and runs sweaty palms over his head, almost swearing again when he sticks his thumb on the pencil he’d forgotten was back there.  
  
“What the  _he_ — _what_  do you think you’re doing climbing around on the counters like that?” he demands. “You  _know_  you’re not supposed to go playing around in the kitchen by yourself!”  
  
Kana stamps her foot, little fists balled up at her sides. “Well you weren’t listening!”  
  
“I was  _busy_ , Kana. I told you I’d help you in a minute.”  
  
“You kept saying that for  _hours_!”  
  
“Kana,” he growls and his pulse is pounding in his ears and in his head and there’s fucking glass everywhere and she could have gotten herself killed and _then_  what would he have done and fuck the damn coffee he needs a fucking drink. “I was  _working_.”  
  
“I wanted to make brownies!”  
  
“You couldn’t wait five more minutes?”  
  
“I wanted to make them  _now_!”  
  
“Well tough luck!” he shouts. “You can’t have everything you want exactly the way you want it. Sometimes you have to be patient and do what other people tell you to do!”  
  
“I  _hate_  you!” she screams, face contorted, and it would probably be cute if his chest wasn’t burning, if he didn’t want to just grab her by the shoulders and _make_  her understand, make her  _listen_. She turns and runs away from the kitchen, and a few moments later he hears her bedroom door slam shut behind her.  
  
He straightens up and hits the side of his fist against the doorframe. “Yeah, well, join the club,” he grumbles, resting his forehead against his arm and letting out a slow breath. His insides are still shaking with fury and fear, but the burst of energy is quickly deserting him and he’s so damn  _tired_. He just needs to breathe.  
  
He straightens again and glances down at the mess at his feet, rubbing at his forehead. Fucking hell. His head is throbbing, and the kitchen’s a disaster area, and his throat feels raw from the way he was screaming at her. He never screams at her.  
  
He puts a hand on the doorframe again and slumps down to sit with his back against it, the sea of shattered glass at his side, and then he rests his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and presses against his eyeballs, willing it to just fucking go away already. He’s never been good at the discipline stuff. He doesn’t have the stomach for it. Meisa’s much better, always firm and calm and reasonable, but he always just lets her get away with stuff, push the boundaries just a little bit more each time until eventually something snaps and he flies off the handle.  
  
When his nerves finally feel a little less frayed and his hands have stopped shaking, he pushes himself to his feet again and gets to work. He keeps the boots on just because it’s easier that way, and because stabbing himself through the foot on a shard of broken glass would not improve his day in the slightest. First he cleans up the big pieces, bagging them and depositing them safely in the garbage. Then he sweeps up the smaller ones, and the fine dust of the bits he crushed during his brief display of heroics. Finally he pulls out the vacuum and does the whole kitchen floor and a little bit outside the doorway, just in case there’s anything he missed, and he’s heard sometimes even barely visible little glass fragments can get lodged in the skin and hurt like hell. When he imagines Kana running through the kitchen in her bare feet, he goes once over the epicenter with the vacuum again.  
  
It takes him more than an hour to finish, right down to cleaning the glass dust off his boots and putting them back in the hallway, but Kana doesn’t come out of her room once during all that time.  
  
When he’s done, he glances toward the hallway. He can’t hear her in there, but he knows she’s still there—where else would she go? Anyway, she might not take after him when it comes to playing the social butterfly, but she’s exactly like him whenever things go wrong. Holes up like a sick cat and waits for the bad stuff to blow over, for everything to be okay again.  
  
He knocks on her door just to let her know he’s there, but he doesn’t wait for an answer. When he cracks the door open, he finds her sitting on the edge of her bed with her knees pulled up to her chest, chin tucked against her forearms and her eyes all red and puffy.  
  
“Is it okay if I come in?” he asks.  
  
She nods and scoots over a little, shifting her feet down to dangle from the edge of the mattress and staring down at her hands. It’s an unnecessary gesture—she couldn’t take up the whole edge of the bed if she tried—but he appreciates the invitation nonetheless. He takes a seat beside her on the bed and takes a breath, lets his shoulders drop as he folds his hands between his knees.  
  
“I’m sorry I got so mad,” he says. He hears Kana give a small sniffle and glances over to see her scrubbing at her eye. She’s biting her lip to keep it from shaking, and it makes his heart hurt. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. But it’s important for you to understand why I got angry. What you were doing was dangerous. You need to listen to me when I tell you not to go playing around in the kitchen by yourself. I love you very much, and I want to keep you safe. That’s why I got so upset. I was worried about you.”  
  
Kana nods and hiccups, swiping at her eye again. “I’m sorry I broke the pan.”  
  
He smiles a little. “I know you are, kiddo,” he says. “It’s okay. I forgive you.” He loops an arm around her shoulders and tugs her against his side, leaning over to kiss her on the top of the head. When she hiccups again and wraps her arms tightly around his waist, breathing jagged sobs into his t-shirt, he brings his other arm around her and just holds her close, stroking her hair and rocking her gently back and forth. It’s for her, but it’s also for him. Maybe it’s the catharsis, but he feels calmer than he has in days.  
  
“I don’t hate you,” she mumbles into his stomach.  
  
His hand pauses in her hair for a moment, but then he resumes stroking, letting out a little breath with a small smile. “I know that. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re angry.”  
  
“Like the turtle and the rabbit?”  
  
He freezes. When he resumes stroking her head again this time, his fingers feel a little stiff. He swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “Just like them.”  
  
He just keeps patting her head. Because everything’s fine now, and he’s working on it, and anyway it’s not her problem. Her problems are Haruka-chan’s new shoes and delayed brownie-making and the bad bars for snack. Nothing else will ever touch her, not if he can help it. Her world will stay perfect. He won’t fuck this up.  
  
The afternoon is less eventful than the morning was, but Jin doesn’t get much done anyway. He’s lost the flow of the song he was working on, and his head feels scattered from the excitement. Even the second pot of coffee doesn’t help. Meisa is working late, and Jin attempts omurice for dinner, but he just ends up burning the crap out of everything and possibly ruining one of their stainless steel frying pans in the process. Rather than risk the life of a third piece of cookware for the day, Jin ends up ordering takeout for them instead.  
  
He puts Kana to bed an hour earlier than usual, without dessert, and she accepts her punishment for the pan incident with the solemnity of a repentant convict. She’s been a little subdued all afternoon, but at least it seems like they’ve successfully made up, and he knows she’ll be her usual cheerful, chatty self again by morning. Nothing keeps her down for long.  
  
He spends the next hour scrubbing at the frying pan in the sink, and at least he gets the surface smooth again, though there are still some worrying black splotches on the metal that he thinks might just not go away. So much for “stainless” steel. He leaves it in the sink, figuring that if there’s anything to be done about it, Meisa will know better than he does what it is. He cleans up the rest of the dishes, fills the dishwasher, and puts away the takeout, and then he finally brings his stuff back into his office to try to get in a few hours of concentrated work.  
  
Well, as concentrated as he ever manages these days. His brain isn’t built for eighteen-hour workdays, but if he doesn’t do it now, when will he do it? And it’s better than resigning himself to sleep.  
  
He hears Meisa come in around midnight, thinks about stepping out to say hi and ask her how her day was, like a good husband, and maybe explain the mysterious disappearance of her glass baking pan—but he doesn’t. She bypasses the kitchen and the office and heads for the bedroom, and fair enough, it’s late, and it’s not like she’s planning to do any baking with that particular pan right now anyway. It can wait. He’s tired and she’s tired, and it can all wait until tomorrow. Or whenever they next cross paths.  
  
He hears the bedroom door close behind her, and sleep sounds really good right now, except for what comes with it. Which also sounds good, but that’s exactly the problem. Just another hour or so, till he finishes this song. Then he’ll snag a few hours and be up again with tomorrow’s alarm, and he’ll try to forget the dreams as quickly as possible while he’s putting on the coffee and making Kana’s breakfast and starting the whole process over again from scratch.  
  
*      *      *  
  
He’s in the studio on a Thursday afternoon. Half the album is still unwritten or in shredded fragments on his hard drive, but at least they’re starting to record some of the stuff he’s finished. Keeps the bosses happy, to know they’re making progress. Jin’s head is aching like a motherfucker and he keeps thinking he sees things moving out of the corner of his eye only to realize it’s his own reflection in the glass or a dark speckle of static on his brain from the flagging caffeine buzz.  
  
“Hey, man, you alright?” Josh asks him through the intercom when he forgets a line and stutters through his cue.  
  
“Yep! Yeah, fine,” he mumbles back. He tries to smile, but his face is too tired and gives up halfway. He’s busy blinking at the lyric sheets on the stand in front of him, trying to find the words in the middle of all that vibrating whiteness. Why do the lights have to be so bright in here?  
  
“Jin?”  
  
“What?” Jin looks up at the booth. He couldn’t tell who was talking to him through the headphones. Didn’t sound like Josh that time.  
  
He sees Josh on the other side of the glass glancing at the sound mixer, then back out at Jin. “Did you say something?” he says into Jin’s headphones.  
  
Jin frowns, shakes his head. “No, I thought you—nevermind.” Whatever. Stupid lights.  
  
“Jin, wake up.”  
  
Jin blinks again, looks up at the booth. He recognized the voice that time, but he’s not…there are only the two of them in there, and they’re talking to each other, and he’s not…  
  
Someone moves in his peripheral vision again, and he can’t tell if his hair is red or black. When he looks there’s no one there.  
  
“ _Jin_.”  
  
The voice is more insistent now, and it’s definitely him, and it’s not even coming through the headphones because Josh is talking to him too and he can’t hear anything.  
  
His head hurts really bad, and the lights get brighter, and he can  _hear_  them, hear them buzzing overhead and under his skin. The floor shifts under his feet and he can’t stay up, the safety equipment failed, and his elbow hits the scaffolding as he’s falling towards the stage. It doesn’t even hurt.


	7. Chapter 7

Jin feels the jerk as he awakes. There’s a hand at his shoulder, a sleepy silhouette leaning over him in the darkness.  
  
“You okay?” Kame mumbles.  
  
“Fine,” Jin says, still trying to focus his eyes, and he’s not quite sure why his heart is beating so hard. “Did I wake you?”  
  
Kame murmurs something dismissively unintelligible and flops back down on his side of the mattress, curling up again. Jin watches him for a few minutes, wondering what time it is, hoping he wasn’t accidentally beating Kame up in his sleep or something. It has to be the middle of the night. The clock says 3 a.m.  
  
He should really go back to sleep. But right now he’s wide awake, and somehow it feels like the last thing he wants to do.  
  
He carefully slides out of bed, trying not to disturb Kame. He has to lean heavily on the nightstand to straighten up, but at least he doesn’t knock anything over, and he can still hear Kame’s sleepy breathing continuing uninterrupted, so he figures he’s been successful. Slow and steady, mindful of the creaking floors, he makes his way out of the room and down the hall toward the kitchen.  
  
He turns on the lights over the sink. Reaches up for a glass from the cupboard and crosses over, leaning against the edge of the counter as he fills it from the tap. Then he just stands there, sipping slowly. Breathing in the calm.  
  
The dreams are getting a little…stressful. Not surprising it’s giving him a headache. It seems like he’s hardly getting any rest these days whether he’s asleep or awake.  
  
The lights overhead illuminate his reflection in the dark window over the sink. He lifts a hand to sweep his tangled hair back from his forehead, run his fingers along the fading scar above his right eye. The stitches are gone, and the bright line is gradually healing, but it’s still clear enough that he can see it in the dim, like a jagged canyon winding toward his hairline.  
  
“Everything okay?”  
  
Jin glances back toward the kitchen door, finds Kame there looking sleepy but alert in boxers and t-shirt, his hair fluffed up on one side. He can’t help a small grin.  
  
“Fine,” he says, rubbing a little at that spot between the scar and his right eyebrow, near his temple. “Just a headache.”  
  
Kame frowns and comes over to stand beside him. “Still?” he says, reaching up and touching the scar with two fingers. “Maybe you should get it checked out. Do you want me to make an appointment with the hospital?”  
  
Jin half-shrugs. Kame worries too much. He wants to reach over and poke at Kame’s forehead too, smooth out the wrinkles between his perfect brows. “It’s just a headache—I took some aspirin earlier, it’ll be fine.”  
  
“Yeah, but you know, with everything,” Kame says, leaning one hip against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look reassured. “It could be something worse. You should at least talk to someone, just in case, maybe get another CT scan and see if they missed something the first time.”  
  
Jin leans over and kisses him on the forehead. Maybe that will work better than poking. Kame blinks, startled. At least it shuts him up.  
  
“Okay,” Jin concedes with a smile. “I’ll get it checked out.”  
  
Kame lets out a little breath, and his forehead relaxes a bit. “Good. I’ll call them tomorrow.”  
  
Jin thinks about pointing out that he’s a big boy and he knows how to dial a telephone, but then he doesn’t want the wrinkle to come back. And fair enough, he’d probably forget for a couple of days anyway.  
  
“Okay,” he says again.  
  
Kame smiles, like he followed that whole train of thought just from looking at Jin’s face. “I can’t help it,” he mutters, slightly apologetic, but not anxious anymore. “I worry.”  
  
“I know,” Jin says, smiling back. “I like that.” It’s sort of by accident, but once he says it he realizes it’s true. “I like that you worry about me.”  
  
“Liar,” Kame says, chuckling a little. “You hate being fussed over.”  
  
“Yeah,” he agrees. “But it’s different when it’s you.”  
  
Kame’s brow twitches inward again, this time with a question, and the smile fades a little. Jin just meets his eyes. When Kame moves forward and wraps his arms around Jin’s middle, Jin doesn’t move back. He sets down the water glass after a moment and folds his arms around Kame too, just holding him, and Kame breathes out a small sigh against his neck, resting his head against Jin’s shoulder. They stay there for a long time, standing in the middle of their kitchen in their pajamas at three in the morning, and the floor is cold, but Kame is warm, and Jin doesn’t want to go back to sleep. He just wants to stay here, exactly like this.  
  
It’s Kame who eventually pulls back. When he looks up at Jin, his smile is a little bit sheepish, like he’s afraid he’s been taking advantage again. Jin wants to tell him it’s fine, there’s nothing wrong, to stay close, but he can’t get the words out past his throat.  
  
“We should probably get some sleep, or neither one of us will remember to make the appointment in the morning,” Kame says.  
  
Jin nods. He takes one last sip of his water and then rinses out the glass, leaving it in the sink. He follows Kame back out of the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom. Kame climbs in on his side and settles himself on his back, and Jin crawls in on his stomach, arranging the pillow underneath his head and sneaking glances at Kame from around his shoulder. Kame’s arms are on top of the covers, his body straight, relaxed but orderly, and carefully contained as always. His eyes are closed, the indirect moonlight from the window reflecting off the bend of his nose, the sharp curve of his chin.  
  
It’s just sleep, he thinks. Sleep is normal. Sleep is good. People die without sleep, and he doesn’t want to die, so he can’t just stop sleeping just because his sleep these days isn’t particularly restful. Still, if he does have to sleep, maybe it would be a little less scary if he didn’t have to sleep alone.  
  
Jin shifts a bit on the mattress, partly just to let Kame know he’s awake, so he won’t startle him. He sees Kame’s eyelashes flutter open in the darkness.  
  
“Kame?”  
  
Kame looks at him a little bit quickly, and Jin tries a smile.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Jin purses his lips for a moment. It’s okay. He can always say no, right?  
  
“Is it okay if I come hang out over there with you for a while?”  
  
Kame stares at him for a moment. Jin sees him swallow. His tongue pokes out for a moment to wet his lips, and suddenly Jin feels like kissing him. But he doesn’t.  
  
“Sure,” Kame says. He moves his near arm slightly awkwardly, like he’s not exactly sure he heard the request right and he doesn’t want to offer an unwanted invitation—but Jin shifts over immediately, wincing only slightly when he accidentally uses the wrong muscles, until he’s right up next to Kame with his head resting on Kame’s shoulder and one arm across Kame’s stomach. It surprises him how easily they fit together, like his body remembers something that his mind still doesn’t, and it feels even better once Kame stops worrying that he’s misunderstood somehow and that Jin has just accidentally rolled over and plastered himself against him. After a while, Jin feels him slowly relax, his fingers settling in Jin’s hair.  
  
 _Kame is warm_ …  
  
*      *      *  
  
The water is cold, and some of it goes up his nose, makes him choke and splutter as it drips down his pharynx. He sits up coughing, trying to clear his lungs. Somebody’s asking if he’s okay, but it’s not Kame, and neither is the hand on his back, trying to help by hitting him as he coughs, but each hit just makes his head throb harder.  _Stop_ , he thinks, but he doesn’t have enough breath to get it out. There are feet all around him and the couch is uncomfortable, some kind of stiff leather, and he wonders where Kame’s gone and how all these people got this couch into their bedroom.  
  
“Hey, Jin,” Josh calls to him, waving a hand in front of his face, and Jin blinks up. “You alright?”  
  
Josh looks a little pale, and the sound engineer is there too, and some girl who looks vaguely familiar and he thinks she might be a receptionist. She’s got a half-empty bottle of water in her hands, and she’s looking like she wants to hide it away now that he’s awake and struggling to breathe.  
  
“I’m fine,” he croaks, even though he’s so not fine. His elbow hurts, and he finds a cut on the back of it that he doesn’t remember, fresh but not deep.  
  
“You just collapsed,” Josh says. “Knocked over the mic and the music stand and hit the floor. It was really freaky. Are you sure you’re okay?”  
  
 _No_ , he thinks, rubbing his head, but the stuff that’s broken isn’t anything Josh can fix, and he just wishes they would all stop crowding him a little bit, just let him breathe. “I’m fine,” he says again. “I haven’t been getting much sleep, that’s all.”  
  
“Shit, man,” Josh whistles. “You have to sleep.”  
  
 _Yeah, thanks, that helps_ , Jin thinks bitterly. But he doesn’t say it, because Josh is just trying to help and he doesn’t know all the crazy that’s going on in Jin’s head. Nobody does.  
  
Well, almost nobody.  
  
They make him drink the rest of the water and somebody brings him a sandwich from the break room, because apparently low blood sugar can cause fainting too. He’s not hungry, but he eats it anyway because it keeps his mouth occupied and people stop asking him questions even if they keep staring at him like he’s about to pass out again any moment. Finally they decide they’ve done all they can for the day and Josh puts him in a cab, orders him to go home and take a fucking nap and not do that scary-ass fainting thing again for fuck’s sake. Jin decides it’s good advice.  
  
Meisa wakes him around early evening with her hand on his forehead, and he just catches himself before he says the wrong name out loud. Josh called her at work and told her what happened, and she’s looking so worried that it makes him feel like crap again. She shouldn’t be worried over him. He’s dealing with it. He’s trying to make it go away.  
  
She brings him hot tea and onigiri from the kitchen and tells him to keep resting, she’ll take care of everything with Kana. He eats one of the onigiri and drinks a little tea, then rolls over and goes back to sleep, tries very hard not to dream. He dreams anyway.  
  
When he wakes again, it’s after midnight. The house is quiet and Meisa is snoring lightly beside him. The leftover onigiri is still on his bedside table, and the dregs of the tea have gone cold.  
  
He climbs out of bed slowly, careful not to wake Meisa, and goes to use the bathroom. He’s still wearing what he wore to the studio—he collapsed into bed the moment he got home, and he hasn’t been up since. After he washes his hands, he picks up the remains of his dinner and brings the dishes into the kitchen, rinses out the tea and puts the cup in the drainer, the plate beside it. He takes the remaining onigiri with him and nibbles on it as he creeps quietly down the hall to Kana’s room. He hasn’t even seen her today, not since this morning.  
  
He watches her sleep through a small crack between the door and the frame. He feels much more rested and less jittery than before, but underneath it the exhaustion still persists. The symptoms have been alleviated, but the affliction remains. There’s still tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and he’s not sure when or how it’s ever going to stop.  
  
After he finishes his onigiri, he closes Kana’s door again and walks back to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water from the sink and leans against the counter. The glass is halfway to his lips when he pauses, looks down at it. Remembers.  
  
He lowers the glass to the counter again slowly without even taking a sip. Just keeps staring at it as the minutes tick by. Finally he lets go of it and pulls out his cell, scrolling through the contacts. It’s too late to call, he knows that, but he can’t help it. He calls anyway. Because if he doesn’t, he’s never going to get any decent rest.  
  
The quiet ringing hums in his ear. Once. Twice. After the third time he’s expecting it to go to voicemail soon, because it’s almost one in the morning and nobody answers their phone at this hour. Nobody in their right mind calls at this hour.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
The voice is quiet, a little bit hesitant, but not sleepy. Jin wonders if he thought about not picking up.  
  
“Hi,” Jin says. And then, unnecessarily, “It’s me.”  
  
Kame doesn’t say anything. For a moment Jin wonders if he’s hung up, but then he realizes there wouldn’t be much point in answering the phone at 1 a.m. when you know exactly who it is if you’re just going to hang up on the person.  
  
Jin thinks about all the things he could say. All the things he shouldn’t say. He could pretend he’s just calling to say sorry for not calling sooner, sorry for being so weird before and doing that out of the blue and then just disappearing—but Kame knows all that already. Kame knew he wasn’t going to call. Kame knew he couldn’t.  
  
“I really miss you,” Jin says.  
  
There’s another long silence, though Jin thinks he can hear Kame breathing a little strangely at the other end of the line. He sees him, sitting in his plantless apartment in the dark, with his feet up on the sofa and probably doing some Kame thing like sorting all the random screws and paperclips in his junk drawer so he can find them in a screw-and-paperclip emergency, and answering phone calls in the middle of the night.  
  
“Do you want to come over?” Kame asks.  
  
Jin should say no. But he doesn’t.  
  
*      *      *  
  
403.  
  
Kame answered the phone. Kame invited him over. Kame buzzed him in. But still Jin feels like the air between him and the door is too thick to move through, to solid to pierce. What if…something. They haven’t said much. They haven’t talked about it at all. What if Jin is the one who doesn’t get it? What if he’s got it wrong, and he shouldn’t be here after all?  
  
Well, of course he shouldn’t.  
  
He knocks.  
  
There’s a brief pause that feels like ages, and then the door opens, and there’s Kame.  
  
He looks like hell. He’s standing there in sweats and a t-shirt, clean and showered from the day, but his reddish hair is sticking up at odd angles on one side, like he’s been tugging randomly on it as it dries without even realizing it. His cellphone is clutched in his hand, and he’s staring at Jin like…Jin’s not even sure how to read it. Like he doesn’t know what Jin is doing there, and suddenly Jin’s not sure he knows either.  
  
Kame steps back to let Jin in, closes the door quietly behind him. Jin watches Kame fidgeting with his cellphone and not looking at him as Jin toes off his shoes. He leaves his jacket on, just because maybe he isn’t staying after all. Maybe this was a bad idea.  
  
Well, of course it was a bad idea.  
  
“I’m…sorry,” Jin says, because maybe he got it wrong. Maybe Kame didn’t understand. The way Kame’s hands freeze and he doesn’t look up seems to tell him he’s right. “About last time. I should’ve probably called sooner, it’s just—it’s complicated. I was…trying not to call you.”  
  
Kame looks up at that, and it’s that unreadable look again, and Jin wishes not for the first time that Kame weren’t such a fucking good actor.  
  
Jin pulls at the hem of his jacket and thinks maybe he shouldn’t have taken his shoes off.  
  
“Maybe I should—”  
  
But then that’s as far as he gets before Kame is on him, grabbing him by the collar and trapping him against the door with a deep, almost desperate kiss. Jin feels a little off-balance, maybe partly from the way the impact of the door makes his head spin, but mostly from the way Kame is suddenly pressed against him, one hand at the back of Jin’s neck, his tongue inside Jin’s mouth. There’s a soft thump as Kame’s cellphone slips out of the hand that’s worming its way inside Jin’s jacket, trying to find him, and Kame doesn’t give it a second thought.  
  
“I really missed you too,” Kame breathes against Jin’s neck, and Jin feels a not-unpleasant lurch in the pit of his stomach. His arms go tight around Kame and he twists them around until he’s the one in charge, Kame’s hips trapped against his, and he ducks his head to kiss Kame’s neck because he loves that sound he makes, that little needy moan that’s not cool or collected at all and it’s just Kame, just for him. He grabs Kame’s thigh and pulls it up against his hip, and he wants to have him right here against the door. Kame shoves Jin’s jacket off his shoulders as he arches against him, pressing his erection against Jin’s hip, and they’re both alright with that. When Jin plunges his hand beneath the waistband of Kame’s sweatpants, Kame arches into his touch so hard he hits his own head against the door, and Jin bites his lip against a smile. A few clumsy strokes and gasps that sound like Jin’s name later, Kame’s hands fist in Jin’s shirt and he twists them around again, and Jin can’t help laughing into the kiss when Kame rams Jin’s tailbone up against the doorknob. He thinks it might be the first time he’s laughed in days.  
  
“Ow,” he mumbles.  
  
Kame gives him a sheepish grin, reaching around to rub at the small of Jin’s back as he kisses him again. “Sorry.”  
  
“You’re so gonna pay for that.”  
  
Kame gives a lazy giggle, and the sound feels even better against Jin’s chest than his own laughter. “You promise?”  
  
They leave a trail of discarded clothing from the front door to the bed, and Kame nearly trips over the waist of his sweatpants when he tries to step out of them while still busy kissing Jin’s neck. Kame is the one who pushes Jin to the bed, but Jin doesn’t let him drive for very long before turning the tables again. He loves the feeling of Kame writhing underneath him, clutching Jin’s ass like he’s afraid Jin might try to escape before he’s finished with him. For all Jin’s promises of debts and payment, neither one of them seems able to think further ahead than the present moment, nor are they willing to sacrifice more than an inch or two of contact. They press close, and Jin’s dick finds a place against Kame’s hip, and Kame’s ragged breaths and the little moans against Jin’s tongue are the best thing he’s heard all week.  
  
The coil in Jin’s stomach winds itself tighter, his palms sweaty and sliding against Kame’s hips as he picks up the pace. He bites Kame’s lip when it hits just the right spot—and then it snaps, and he’s coming, a warm sticky mess against Kame’s stomach, Kame’s fingers tangled in his hair. As the room gradually stops spinning, he lets Kame readjust them and follows his lead until Kame is biting his own lip, his head thrown back as he jerks up against Jin’s weight again and again, and Jin wants to kiss him but he doesn’t want to miss this. Kame’s fingers tighten on Jin’s hips when Jin closes a hand around him instead and joins in the rhythm, feeling it gradually fracture as Kame loses control. When Kame comes against him his eyes are closed and his mouth is open, and all Jin can think is,  _Beautiful_.  
  
He kisses Kame’s neck and holds him through the aftershocks, and Kame’s arms wrap around his ribcage and pull him close, heedless of Jin’s dead weight.  
  
They stay there like that for a long time, just holding each other, until Jin seriously starts to wonder if Kame can breathe under there or if he’s just quietly suffocated. He shifts his weight to the side a little, and Kame loosens his grip, but doesn’t let him go far. He follows him around until Jin is on his back and Kame’s half covering him, kissing him again like he’s not quite ready to let go. When Kame finally leans up, his face is flushed and happy, and his fingertips are still brushing the hair back from Jin’s cheek. Jin feels like he should say something clever, but Kame’s shadowless smile just makes him feel stupid and happy too, and he can’t think of anything that would even qualify as coherent, much less clever.  
  
Kame finds them a warm towel so they can clean up the mess, and then they crawl under the covers and settle again, arms and feet tangled together on the mattress. They’re on Jin’s side of the bed this time. Not that Jin has a side of the bed, the whole bed is Kame’s—but it’s the side that would be his. If the bed were his too.  
  
“You know,” Jin mumbles, gazing up at the ceiling, “in the dreams, you make me lasagna. Like, perfect lasagna, with no onions and extra cheese. Tons of it.”  
  
Kame chuckles against Jin’s chest. “If you’re trying to talk me into making you lasagna at three in the morning, you’re going to have to be cleverer about it than that.” Then he bites Jin’s collarbone gently in a way that makes him twitch and punch Kame in the shoulder.  
  
“You are so gonna pay for that,” Jin mutters, but his smile slightly weakens the threat. Kame just laughs at him again.  
  
“I’ve heard that before.”  
  
“Yeah, well this time I mean it.”  
  
“I see. How, exactly?”  
  
“I’ll…” Jin falters, and thinks one of these days he really ought to start thinking more than one sentence ahead, “…use all your spoons and then put them back in the drawer.”  
  
Kame snorts and buries his face against Jin’s shoulder, quaking with undignified laughter.  
  
“You are so bad at this,” Kame says, still chuckling. “You’re never going to earn 3 a.m. lasagna at this rate.”  
  
Jin takes advantage of Kame’s incapacitation to roll them over and bite Kame on the collarbone as well, annoyed though not particularly surprised when it just makes him laugh even harder. “Jerk,” he accuses as Kame makes a halfhearted attempt to wriggle free. “How dare you hold my lasagna hostage? You know it’s my greatest weakness.”  
  
“After those Achilles’ collarbones,” Kame points out, still grinning.  
  
“Shut up,” Jin mutters, and this time he attacks the side of Kame’s neck with his tongue. He feels a flare of triumph when it makes Kame give a small squeak and squirm against him, though he doesn’t exactly seem to be trying to get away.  
  
“Are you really hungry?” Kame asks a little breathlessly, when Jin finally grants mercy. “No lasagna, but if you’re really nice to me I might be persuaded to let you raid the fridge.”  
  
“ _If_  I’m really nice to you?” Jin says, moving his hips against Kame’s in a pointed reminder. “Just what is the standard exchange rate on that these days?”  
  
Kame chuckles, and his brows wrinkle in a show of mental calculations. “Hm…maybe leftover spaghetti and a couple of frozen chicken breasts?”  
  
Jin considers. “Acceptable,” he says with a nod.  
  
Kame lends him a pair of sweatpants, because Jin’s pants and underwear have ended up tangled in the umbrella stand at the other end of the apartment. Kame just tugs on his boxers and leads the way back out to the kitchen, leaving Jin to enjoy the view as he pulls out an assortment of tidy Tupperware containers with dates written on masking tape on the top. Kame heats up the spaghetti first, but there’s leftover Chinese as well, and a bunch of other odds and ends. Most are in small amounts, the slight overflow of a series of well-balanced meals cooked for one.  
  
Kame heats up half a grilled chicken breast for himself, cuts it up and dumps it into a small container of stir-fried vegetables. They sit on top of the counter next to the sink and eat right out of the Tupperware, Kame with his legs folded underneath him and Jin with his bare heels kicking gently against the cabinets.  
  
They don’t talk about Meisa. Kame doesn’t ask where she is, whether she knows her husband is sitting in someone else’s kitchen eating leftovers with a light sheen of sweat on his back, and Jin doesn’t tell him. Instead, Kame talks about work, about long days of filming made bearable by a witty heroine with whom he invented a dirty word game last week between takes, and about the start of promos in the coming months. He mentions other meetings in passing, and Jin has a feeling he knows what those are for, though Kame is careful not to mention any names. Jin doesn’t ask about that either.  
  
Jin tells him about the album—the stupid black hole of a song he’s been trying to finish. The other quiet acoustic that he actually really likes, though he’s still not sure it will fit in with the rest of the tracks.  
  
“You could write a few others like it to balance it out,” Kame suggests.  
  
Jin gives him a look over his chopsticks. He’s polished off the spaghetti, and now he’s helping Kame dispose of a leftover meatloaf. “Easier said than done,” he mutters, popping another bite of seasoned meat into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “The truth is…I sort of feel like I might be running out of things to write about,” he admits after a while. He gives Kame a sheepish look, but Kame just nods at him. His brows are thoughtful, but not pitying or condescending or annoyed like maybe they could be—especially on this old subject—and Jin feels something ease a little bit in his chest.  
  
“I don’t know,” he continues, giving a half-shrug and picking at the meatloaf again, though he doesn’t choose another bite. “The dance tracks and stuff can just be about anything, basically—the same few lines in a different order. And if I write them in English, no one even cares what they’re about as long as there’s a good beat and some decent melody. But when it’s just me and the guitar and maybe a piano or some light electronics, suddenly it feels like the song has to be  _about_  something. And I draw a blank.”  
  
Kame gives a pensive nod, slurping an onion past his lips and chewing on it for a bit. “What’s the other song about then?” he asks. “The one you like?”  
  
Jin frowns into his meatloaf again, trying to remember. “It’s—”  
  
He stops, chopsticks poised over his meatloaf with a slight frown. He wrote the lyrics ages ago, just never actually did anything with them until recently. When he wrote them, they weren’t really about anything at all. Just the usual poetic nonsense about things lost in the winter and found in the spring, meant to sound meaningful, even if they came from nowhere. But as he thinks it through now, he starts to wonder. He’s not so sure they’re nonsense anymore.  
  
“What?” Kame says, and Jin gives a start, because for half a second he’s actually forgotten Kame is still there.  
  
“Uh, nothing,” he mumbles. “I can’t remember. I wrote it a while ago.”  
  
He can feel Kame’s skeptical look, but he ignores it and stuffs another piece of meatloaf into his mouth, making sure it’s a big one this time so he can’t talk without being rude.  
  
They finish eating and set about clearing things away. Kame transfers half-finished portions into smaller containers so they won’t take up as much room in the fridge, dutifully replacing the corresponding date labels before putting them away. Jin rinses out the empty containers in the sink and puts them in the dish drainer, ignoring Kame’s vaguely impressed look when he notices that Jin is actually tidying up without being asked.  
  
“What happened to your arm?” Kame asks as he passes behind Jin to get a working pen from the drawer beside the sink.  
  
“What? Oh,” Jin says, lifting his elbow to inspect the long red cut. It stopped bleeding hours ago of course, but it still looks sort of wicked, even if it doesn’t hurt. Somebody sprayed some disinfectant on it for him at the studio, but they didn’t have any bandages large enough to cover it and he forgot about it after he got home. “Something stupid. I sort of passed out in the middle of a recording session this afternoon.”  
  
“You passed out?” Kame says, and Jin doesn’t like that worried look.  
  
“It was no big deal,” Jin shrugs off—and it really doesn’t seem like that big a deal. Not now. He just feels stupid about it now. “I…haven’t been sleeping very well lately,” he says, carefully avoiding Kame’s gaze.  
  
Kame stares at him for a bit, questioning. When Jin gives in and sneaks a glance at him, Kame’s eyes widen slightly, like he’s just found a clue. A soft sort of smile spreads across his face, though he seems to be trying to stop it.  
  
“Oh,” Kame says.  
  
Jin concentrates on scrubbing out the nooks and crannies of one of the containers with the little handled scrubby brush, even though the only thing still smeared on the clear plastic is soapsuds. He hears Kame moving around him again, but it startles him when he suddenly wraps his arms around Jin’s waist from behind and hugs him, his cheek pressed against Jin’s shoulder.  
  
“I hope you start sleeping better,” Kame says.  
  
Jin lets out a little breath and smiles. “Yeah. Me too.”  
  
Kame volunteers to finish cleaning up while Jin goes to take a shower. Jin borrows Kame’s body wash and scrubs himself from head to toe, and then he just stands under the warm water and thinks.  
  
He lifts his elbow again, runs his fingertips over the cut. It’s a clean break in the skin, long and red and just deep enough to sting when the water hits it right. It should hurt more. He should feel it more, but he can’t. His skin is still tingling with the feeling of the two of them, and even though he knows the pain is there, he can’t feel it.  
  
He had an excuse last time, maybe. He could tell himself he didn’t know what he was coming here for until he was here and it was already happening—but that’s not true this time. This time he knew exactly what he was doing. And he should feel like shit, standing here in Kame’s shower, washing away the evidence with Kame’s body wash so he can go back home and lie next to his wife and pretend that nothing’s changed. He should feel like an asshole, because he is one.  
  
But for the first time in weeks, he can breathe again.  
  
It’ll get better with time—he knows that. He’ll find a way to make life work, make things better again. Other people do it, everybody does it, there has to be a way. He’ll find it eventually, when things settle down, if he can just stick it out a little while longer, just keep trying. But if there’s one thing his little episode this afternoon told him, it’s that he can’t anymore. Not without help.  
  
That’s why he’s here. Because for some reason, in some way he doesn’t quite understand, Kame helps. When he’s with Kame, it doesn’t hurt anymore.  
  
And if this is what he needs in order to breathe, in order to be there for both of them when they need him, then maybe it’s okay. Just for a little while, until things get easier again. Maybe it’s even a little bit good, somehow. Maybe it’s the best thing for everybody.


	8. Chapter 8

“We should celebrate.”  
  
Jin looks up from his manga as Kame perches himself on the arm of the couch beside him. He actually thinks maybe he remembers this volume a little bit, but he’s not sure whether that means the fog might be clearing or just that he read it a really long time ago and forgot it the normal way.  
  
“Celebrate what?”  
  
Kame brandishes the creased paper, which has gotten a little crumpled from overuse in the last few weeks. “The alcohol embargo is lifted!” he says, as if Jin of all people should have known. And really, he should have.  
  
Jin grins at him. “What did you have in mind?”  
  
“Drinks, obviously,” Kame says. “Only have to make sure we stop before you’re drunk enough to—”  
  
“Fall over and impale myself on a fire hydrant?” Jin ventures.  
  
Kame giggles. “Exactly. No absurd ER visits are included in this plan.”  
  
“Drinks and no hospitals—I like your plans. Where are we going, the Fox and Hound?”  
  
Kame nods and swings to his feet. “Yeah, I thought—”  
  
Then he stumbles to a halt.  
  
Jin’s smile slips when Kame turns back to look at him, a startled yet somehow bright expression on his face.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Jin asks.  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
Jin feels caught as he tries to figure out which part Kame means. And then it clicks—the Fox and Hound. Which is on the corner just a block or two away, and he can see it clearly in his mind, with the dark green façade and raised gold lettering, and the little menuboard out front with the Union Jack. But he hasn’t left the apartment for the last five weeks, and he was dozing in the car when they returned from the hospital.  
  
“I dreamed about it,” he says, half to himself. And then to Kame, “I met you there. In a dream. You mean it’s real?”  
  
A smile tugs at Kame’s lips and he presses them together. His eyes still look really bright, like he’s sort of trying not to jump on him. Being cautious, but maybe this time not just for Jin’s sake. “Yeah,” he nods. “It’s real. We go there all the time.”  
  
Jin mulls this over—but any way he looks at it, only one thing makes sense. “So, you mean…I’m starting to remember?”  
  
Kame’s smile turns into a grin for a moment before he reins it in again, shoves his hands in his back pockets. Jin’s sure of it now, sure he can actually see Kame trying not to get his hopes up, and it just makes Jin even more hopeful.  
  
“Maybe now we have two things to celebrate,” Kame says.  
  
It takes them a little while to get ready to go. Jin hasn’t worn anything except sweatpants for the last month, and even if he could remember where the rest of his clothes were normally kept he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to find them anyway due to Kame’s constant reorganizing. While Kame is changing, Jin carefully puts on his shoes, putting a hand on the low umbrella stand to keep himself from teetering over. Kame looks pleased with him when he finally emerges in trim dark-wash jeans and an untucked black collared shirt that makes his dark hair stand out even more against his skin. He’s wearing a white tank top underneath it with only a couple of buttons done up in the middle. Jin has always been slightly in awe of Kame’s ability to look both classy and casual at the same time. Jin’s two modes are “hot” and “frumpy.” Although on his better days he does occasionally manage to achieve both at once.  
  
Today he put on a clean t-shirt. That definitely counts as dressing up in his current condition.  
  
Kame locks up after them and slips his keys into his jeans pocket, checking his leather jacket pockets for his phone and wallet. Then he slips his hand into Jin’s so easily it startles him, but Jin is careful not to let it show. If he does, he knows Kame will wake up and pull away again. Instead Jin laces their fingers together, and Kame lets him, busy skimming the elevator buttons for the one that will take them to the ground floor.  
  
They hold hands all the way down to the lobby. All the way across to the front door. When they get out onto the street, Jin expects Kame to let go, because they’re out in public, and that’s probably against the rules—but he doesn’t. He reaches up with his free hand and shifts his sunglasses down from his head to cover his eyes, but he doesn’t seem particularly concerned with disguising himself or hiding their joined hands from view. Jin trails alongside him, sneaking glances at Kame’s profile and shivering a little bit each time a gust of wind slips underneath the collar of his hoodie.  
  
Kame releases his hand when they reach the pub, but only to open the door for Jin.  
  
It’s the same as he remembers it. Dark and cozy, baseball on the TV sets. Only one couple at the end of the bar nearest the door, an older man with a beer and a newspaper by himself in one of the booths. No one looks up when they come in except the bartender, and he just gives them a friendly wave and a little nod. Kame leads the way to the booth at the back and makes sure Jin gets settled comfortably before he goes to get their beers.  
  
Jin doesn’t recognize the brand name on the glass Kame sets in front of him, but the beer is smooth and light with a tang of citrus, just the way he likes it. Kame’s is a stout, something dark and hoppy. Jin begs a taste just out of curiosity, but Kame just grins knowingly when Jin wrinkles his nose and pushes the beer back across the table again.  
  
“This is a really cool place,” Jin says, settling back against the padded booth. He’s glancing around at the televisions overhead, less because he’s interested in the baseball than because he keeps finding himself getting distracted by the way Kame’s throat moves every time he lifts his chin slightly to take a sip of his beer.  
  
Kame nods as he sets his glass back down on the table, running his tongue over his lips. Also distracting. Especially since Kame seems to be doing it without any intention of distracting him. “You met me here,” he says, glancing toward the bar. The couple are still sitting there at the far end, their heads together as they confer over the specials menu. Though for all Jin can tell they could be discussing something much more intimate. “On our first date. Well, first official date,” Kame amends. There’s a little secret smile that makes Jin want to ask more, but he has a feeling maybe it’s a story that would be better not told in public. No matter how chill and paparazzi-free the pub.  
  
“We met here for drinks, and then we went to some god-awful movie I can’t even remember because we just ended up making out in the back row—which might actually have been your plan from the beginning, now that I think about it,” Kame says, giving him an appraising look over his stout.  
  
“I don’t remember,” Jin smirks, trying not to blush. “But it sounds like me.”  
  
Kame grins back. “Anyway, then we came back here again, and we decided to stop in for another drink because we didn’t quite feel like going home yet, and we had a ground rule about…stuff. After—well—early on, just because things were complicated. Working together. So we decided to put that aside for a while and figure out if the rest of it worked first.”  
  
Right. That sounded like a Kame kind of rule.  
  
“We stayed until closing though, and then you walked me up to my apartment. You tried to talk your way in,” Kame’s grin turns a little bit sideways, “but I invoked the rule, so you settled for a goodnight kiss. Almost made me give in too. If you’d stuck it out about thirty seconds longer, I probably would have.”  
  
“Oh, Kame, you shouldn’t have told me that,” Jin teases. “Now there’s uncontrollable sobbing in my head.” Kame kicks him under the table.  
  
“It was a nice first date,” Kame says, nodding thoughtfully at his glass, a little smile still playing at his lips. “My first first date.”  
  
That one takes him by surprise. “Seriously?” Jin asks. When Kame shrugs, Jin just gets more skeptical. “How on earth did that happen?”  
  
“Well, it’s not exactly easy, is it,” Kame says. “Dating. When you’re us. Especially if you’re dating men.”  
  
“But  _seriously_?” Jin pressed. “You were with  _no one_  before you were with—with me?”  
  
Kame blinks as Jin stumbles over the words and then decides to say them anyway—but he doesn’t comment. “Well, I didn’t exactly say that,” he hedges. “But I never dated anyone—not seriously.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
Kame’s smile turns a little bit coy. “Mmmm…reasons?”  
  
“That’s specific,” Jin says, arching an eyebrow—but he decides not to press. They’re on slightly shaky ground already, and he wants things to stay easy. Especially since he’s sort of working up the nerve to ask another nosy question, and he doesn’t want to use up Kame’s good graces before he gets there.  
  
He shifts around on his seat again because his butt is starting to fall asleep on the bench—the soreness still makes changing position a little more difficult than usual, so he tends to find himself staying where he is until something forces him to move.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
Jin nods, happy when Kame accepts the answer at face value. Kame’s protectiveness has eased up a little bit as Jin has grown stronger, which Jin appreciates. Not only because it would be stifling to imagine living the rest of his life with a Kame who watched him like he was a china doll every time he moved, but because it’s another thing that’s getting easier, slowly but surely, for both of them. Kame isn’t afraid to ask, and he trusts Jin to give him a truthful answer. It’s nice.  
  
Jin isn’t exactly sure when he started thinking about living with Kame in terms of the rest of his life instead of one week at a time. But he prefers not to examine that too closely right now.  
  
“So,” he says, when he’s found a comfortable way of resting his elbows against the table that takes some of the pressure off his lower back, “there’s something I’ve been wondering.”  
  
Kame pauses with his beer halfway to his lips and flicks dubious eyes up to Jin’s. “Yes?”  
  
“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I understand.” Well, he doesn’t really, but that’s sort of the point. There are a lot of things in his head that he doesn’t understand, and some of them are turning out to be more real than he thought, and he’s starting to think maybe that means something. Maybe that means a lot. Which is why he’s asking. “But I’ve been wondering, and it’s been a while, and I thought maybe it was…something I should know.”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
Jin drops his gaze to his beer for a moment, just figuring out the phrasing. Then he looks up again.  
  
“What’s the Meisa thing?”  
  
Kame stares at him, a little bit caught-in-the-headlights. Then he takes a long drink of his stout, polishing off the last of the glass and setting it down on the corner of the table. His lips are pressed together in a sort of crooked line, and he looks like he’s gathering courage or thoughts, or maybe a little of both.  
  
“Okay,” he says, nodding to himself, still staring down at the table. “Okay.” Then he slumps down in his seat and kicks his feet up on the edge of the opposite bench, right next to Jin’s knees, rubbing a hand over his face and looking up at the wall over Jin’s shoulder. Jin thinks maybe he should get comfortable too. He takes another sip of his beer and rests his chin on his hand.  
  
“So,” Kame says, scratching at a spot just above his eyebrow. He’s still looking at the wall. “It was maybe a year after you and I got together. We were going through kind of a rough patch. We’d started vaguely talking about some stuff—future stuff, not exactly planning, but just thinking about some ‘maybes.’ I was really busy, and there was a tour coming up so we were spending a lot of time together at work too. We weren’t living together yet, but you were at my place almost every night, even when we were too tired to…” He flicks his eyes down to Jin’s face, and it’s the first time he’s really stumbled over that kind of detail this evening. Jin supposes it’s easier when it’s a joke. But he doesn’t question him, just keeps listening as Kame returns his gaze to the wall. “Anyway, it was hard, and you sort of got…quiet.”  
  
Quiet. Somehow the thought makes him feel a little uneasy.  
  
“We didn’t see each other for a week or so, and I didn’t really think much of it because I was caught up in stuff anyway and I…didn’t really have time for you, I guess. But then one day I got home and you were there, and you were acting really weird. Too jumpy. Too helpful. I knew something was going on, and when I called you on it you finally told me.”  
  
Jin doesn’t say anything. He has a horrible feeling he knows exactly what Kame is talking about. And it’s giving him a creepy sense of déjà vu.  
  
Kame takes a deep breath and lets it out. That dismayed little frown twists his lips again. “It wasn’t just the fact that you slept with her,” he says, his voice a little dark, but even. “I mean, that pissed me off, but that’s not what almost ended us. It was what you told me about why you slept with her. Why you disappeared.”  
  
Jin doesn’t want to say anything. But when Kame stops talking, he has to. He needs to know.  
  
“Why?”  
  
Kame looks at him. He even smiles a little bit, and there’s something half-resigned and sheepish about it that almost hides the flicker of fear. “You said you freaked out because you didn’t think you could go the rest of your life without ever being with a woman again.”  
  
Ah. Well that…makes sense, actually. Of many, many things. It’s not exactly a question he’s been asking himself lately, but maybe it should be. Not that he’s even slept with Kame yet as far as he can remember, not really—but if he had and things were going to stay the way they are, then the question would become very…relevant.  
  
Yet. That’s…interesting.  
  
“It wasn’t Meisa’s fault,” Kame says, and Jin tries not to hear the implied “It was  _your_  fault” too loudly. “It’s not even really about Meisa, it’s just—we took a step back for a while after that. I told you to go do what you needed to do, and not to come back to me unless you were really sure. And I really thought that was going to be the end of it. I mean, I’d known it was sort of a strange thing from the beginning, and I figured it had run its course and we’d hit a limit and that’s what happens sometimes. I really didn’t think you’d come back.”  
  
His voice is casual as he says it, but even Jin can tell it hurts him to think about it. He doesn’t like it when Kame hurts. “But I did,” Jin says. And he’s not sure whether it’s a prompt or a reminder.  
  
Kame smiles at him, but his eyes are still sad. “Yeah,” he says. “You did.”  
  
 _And now you’ve disappeared again._  
  
Because that’s the real problem, isn’t it. He’s himself, but not quite. He’s the guy who lives with Kame, but he’s not the guy who met him here and took him to a bad movie so they could make out. He’s not the guy who pushed Kame in the ocean and then taunted him with a camera. He’s not the guy who cheated on Kame with a woman and then made it up to him, decided that Kame was what he wanted, built a life with him. Jin hasn’t done any of that.  
  
Jin thinks of the dreams, of a life in which Meisa is the one he sleeps next to at night, separate and still in the quiet. In which Kame is the one he runs to when things get too hard.  
  
He glances down at Kame’s feet on the bench beside him. Worn out loafers, too long and flat for a guy his height, his toes turned out a little too far because his joints are just built that way. His eternal jeans have slipped up a bit at the cuffs, exposing the about a centimeter of pale, hairy ankle. Above the table he’s still cool as ever, but here where he’s hidden by Jin’s thigh he’s not cool at all. He’s just Kame.  
  
Jin curls a hand over Kame’s ankle, and Kame startles—but Jin just keeps it there, tucking Kame’s calf against his thigh and looking back at him steadily. The uncertain look Kame is giving him makes him feel a little guilty. Because Kame has been taking care of him night and day for the past month, and suddenly he wonders who’s been taking care of Kame.  
  
If he were himself right now, it would be him.  
  
“I’m glad I came back,” Jin says.  
  
Kame relaxes a little right before his eyes, and he feels some of the tension release from his calf. When the smile comes, it’s soft, and it’s real.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
They hang around for another hour or so, enjoying their drinks and talking about things that don’t matter so much. Kame gets distracted by the TV screens overhead at one point, and Jin annoys him with intentionally dumb questions until Kame finally notices his sneaky grin and digs his heel into Jin’s thigh. Jin keeps his hand hovering over Kame’s ankle, and after a while he can’t tell whether he’s doing it for Kame or himself. He’s just glad Kame lets him.  
  
They link hands again on the way back up to the apartment, the sun hanging low in the sky. They’re not really tipsy, but they act like it, because that’s just how you are after an afternoon at the pub. It’s more fun that way. Kame unlocks the door for them again and they both slip off their shoes, hang their jackets up on the coat hooks. When Kame steps into the living room, he slides his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and glances around, like he knows he’s got a to do list somewhere and he’s not sure where he put it. Jin comes up behind him and takes him by the elbow, tugging him gently around to face him.  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Kame blinks up at him, lips twitching up in a slightly bemused smile. “Hey?”  
  
“That was fun,” Jin says. “Thanks for that.”  
  
Kame nods. “Sure,” he says—but he’s still looking at Jin like he thinks there must be something more coming.  
  
He’s right.  
  
Before he has a chance to change his mind, Jin leans in and kisses Kame gently on the lips.  
  
Kame doesn’t move at first. Jin sort of expected that. But he doesn’t back away, just moves his lips softly against Kame’s, inviting him to jump in and participate anytime he likes. Reassuring him that yes, Jin is doing this intentionally, he hasn’t just lost his balance and failed to right himself. After a moment or two, Kame seems to get it, and then his lips part and he sinks into the kiss. Suddenly the world is warm and full of Kame, and Jin’s heart rate calms a little bit as Kame’s arms come around him. It’s strange and familiar and new all at once, and Jin thinks this is good. This was a good idea. Jin wants more of this.  
  
He trails kisses along Kame’s cheek and then just holds him close, and Kame hums into his embrace.  
  
“That was…unexpected,” he says, and Jin can hear his smile.  
  
“That’s me,” Jin grins, leaning back just far enough to look Kame in the eye. “Mr. Unpredictable.”  
  
Kame laughs. “Yeah, tell me about it.”  
  
“I need a shower,” Jin says.  
  
Kame gives him a funny look, still pleasantly dazed. “Okay. I can get dinner started while you’re—”  
  
But Jin shakes his head and interrupts Kame with another soft kiss. “Come with me,” he says.  
  
Kame goes completely still. Jin pulls back a few inches, but it still takes him an extra moment to meet Kame’s eyes. There’s a big fat question there, and Jin does his best to answer it without words. Though he’s pretty sure his flushed face is doing most of the work for him.  
  
“We…can’t,” Kame says. “Doctor’s orders, remember?”  
  
Jin shakes his head again. “Doctor’s orders say  _I_  can’t have sex,” he corrects. “They don’t say anything about you.”  
  
“But,” Kame looks confused, then comprehending, then confused again in a slightly different way, “we don’t—you shouldn’t—I don’t need—”  
  
Jin kisses him again, because it’s easier for him to think when Kame shuts up, and it’s harder for Kame to think when Jin’s kissing him, which will hopefully work out well for the both of them.  
  
“It’s fine,” Jin says, a little breathless. He’s still got his arms around Kame, a little worried he might try to make a run for it before Jin can convince him. “It’s really fine. I mean, if you really don’t want to that’s okay, I get it, but…don’t say no just because you’re taking care of me. You’ve been taking care of me for weeks. I want to take care of you now.”  
  
“You don’t have t—”  
  
“You’re not listening,” Jin says as his kisses a path down the side of Kame’s throat. When Kame stretches just so into his touch, Jin knows he’s doing something right. “I  _want_  to take care of you.”  
  
Kame shivers and slumps a little into Jin’s arms, pressing his cheek against Jin’s shoulder.  
  
“Okay,” he whispers.  
  
Jin feels a little jump low in his belly, part nervousness, part triumph. His brain immediately becomes crowded with unhelpful doubts and apprehensions, but he just holds Kame a little tighter until they slip back into the shadows, until all he can hear is Kame’s breathing and the quiet creak of the floorboards under their feet.  
  
Kame swallows when he stands back. He takes Jin by the hand again, just like before, lacing their fingers together—but this time he doesn’t do it so unconsciously, seems aware of every place their skin touches. He looks Jin in the eye once more, and then leads the way, back into the bedroom, through to the bathroom. When they’re facing each other again in the small space, Kame looks down at their hands again. Then he trails his gaze along Jin’s chest, getting stuck somewhere around his collarbones.  
  
“Do you…need anything?” he asks. “Like a towel or a…drink?”  
  
Jin laughs a little. Then he bites his lip—because he’s seriously nervous, but it’s not anything a drink will fix. Anyway, he’s just had like four beers.  
  
Kame’s eyes have made it to his mouth now, lingering on the spot where Jin’s lip is caught between his teeth.  
  
“I’m fine,” he says. “I’m good.”  
  
Then he leans in and kisses Kame again, because that was good too. That was very good.  
  
Kame’s free hand curls around Jin’s neck and he breathes into the kiss. His breath catches a little against Jin’s mouth when Jin’s fingers find the hem of his shirt and slide underneath, slowly pushing it halfway up his back. Jin untwists his fingers from Kame’s and reaches in between them, undoing the buttons at Kame’s chest. Then he reaches up to the collar of the shirt and tugs it gently down over Kame’s shoulder, until Kame is able to slip his arm free.  
  
They part for a breath, and Kame is looking him in the eyes this time, and Jin can’t think of anything else.  
  
The shirt slips free from Kame’s other shoulder and pools at their feet. Jin kisses Kame again and reaches for the hem of his tank top. He draws back just far enough to watch as Kame raises his arms above his head, as the cotton is peeled away from his flat stomach. The fabric catches against his pointy elbows and fluffs up his carefully styled hair, and when Jin kisses him again Kame’s arms go tight around his shoulders, so strong. Kame grabs a handful of Jin’s t-shirt, and Jin lets him tug it up over his head, and then they’re skin to skin.  
  
He’s seen Kame naked before. He’s dreamed of Kame naked and writhing underneath him, but the reality of touching him like this, watching as each scary, familiar, beautiful inch of skin is revealed is totally different than anything he’s imagined. Kame looming over him in the moonlight was beautiful, but Kame soft and strong in the warm light of their tiny bathroom in the apartment they share, kissing him like he’s something irreplaceable, splaying gentle fingers over his neck like it’s the first time for both of them and he doesn’t want this to go away—that’s something he’s never felt before with anyone. At least as far as he can remember.  
  
Jin reaches in to turn on the tap, test the water with his fingers until it’s nice and warm, never letting Kame out of his arms. He can’t tell whether Kame’s leaning into him or holding him up, but maybe it doesn’t matter. Everywhere they touch feels warm.  
  
He lets Kame in first and then follows him in, and they meet again under the warm water. Kame’s back is to the stream, his dark hair soaked through instantly, and Jin can feel him hardening against his thigh as they lean into each other. Jin’s even a little hard himself, but he focuses on Kame, because that’s what this is about. And he knows it won’t end well if he makes it about anything else. Doctor’s orders should only be stretched so far.  
  
Jin trails his fingers over Kame’s back, and Kame hums into his shoulder, rocking gently against him. Jin can definitely feel him now. He brushes down Kame’s side along with the streaming warmth, and feels Kame turn his face deeper into Jin’s shoulder when his hand settles at Kame’s hip. Jin ducks his head a little to kiss along the curve of Kame’s shoulder—and then he lets his fingers find their way around until it’s there, in his hand, and he feels Kame’s arms tighten around his back, a little shuddering gasp in his ear.  
  
“Jin.”  
  
He loves the sound.  
  
He tries out a few tentative strokes, and figures he must be doing something right when Kame slumps against him again, kisses his neck. But it soon becomes clear that the position is awkward, his arm not used to moving at quite this angle, and it would really be easier if—if he could just…  
  
“Kame,” Jin says, slowing to a stop, and Kame lifts his head, kisses Jin’s jaw.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Can you—is it okay if you turn around? Just…it might be easier…”  
  
Kame nods against him, lingers a bit longer to open his mouth against Jin’s throat, and Jin half wants to tell him to stop because it’s not making it any easier to ignore his own growing hard on, but it feels too good. Then Kame twists around in Jin’s arms, and it’s different again, and the soft, vulnerable planes of skin Jin’s fingers now have access to are not at all bad. He flattens one palm against Kame’s belly and runs the fingertips of his other hand over his nipple, grinning when Kame breathes a little funny, just at the touch.  
  
“I can,” Kame pants. His eyes are closed, and he looks like he’s trying to think, but his hips are moving needily as Jin’s fingers explore his lower abdomen. “Do you want me to brace myself? Against the wall or something?”  
  
Jin kisses the crook of his neck. “Only if you think you’re going to fall over. You promised no hospitals.”  
  
Kame’s lips quirk upwards in a sort of ecstatic smirk. He opens his mouth to say something clever in response, but his voice cuts off with a gasp when Jin’s hand closes around him again, and god, he’s even harder than he was a few moments ago.  
  
It’s definitely easier this way. Jin holds Kame tight against his chest with one arm, and Kame covers it with his own, gripping Jin’s fingers as Jin’s other hand starts to move briskly. Kame’s head rolls back against Jin’s shoulder, eyes closed, breathless.  
  
“Tell me what’s good for you,” Jin says, tasting the fresh warm water on Kame’s slick shoulder. “I want to make it good.”  
  
Kame’s free hand gropes for him blindly as he arches against him, fingers curling in Jin’s hair. “It’s good,” he gasps, quaking midsentence when Jin adds a little twist on the downstroke. “It’s good.”  
  
Jin looks down the long line of Kame’s torso, Kame’s body writhing helplessly against him, watches his own hand sliding over Kame’s dick, feels Kame’s increasingly ragged breath against his ear, and thinks yeah. It’s good. It’s really good.  
  
“Jin,” Kame manages, his voice almost a whine. “God, Jin…”  
  
Jin holds Kame steady and picks up the pace, until Kame’s not even managing words anymore, just sounds. His fingers scrabble at Jin’s scalp and he turns his face inward, clumsy half-kisses against the underside of Jin’s jaw, and his breath in Jin’s ear, his soft hard skin under Jin’s hand. He’s heavier by the moment, and they’ll both fall over if they’re not careful, but Jin doesn’t let go. Just keeps up the pace even when his arm burns, because Kame burns too, and seeing him like this is almost better than feeling it himself. Then Kame’s hand goes tight in his hair and his head jerks to the side with a strangled moan, and Kame’s body ripples against him, pulses underneath his fingers. Jin watches him come against the soft blue tile, and he doesn’t let go. Not for a second.  
  
He holds him until the hardness shrinks away, until Kame’s quivering subsides and he twists around again, wraps his arms tight around Jin’s shoulders and kisses up the side of his neck enthusiastically. Jin can feel Kame’s smile against his skin.  
  
“Thank you,” Kame says. “Thank you.”  
  
Jin runs his fingers through Kame’s tangled, wet hair and smiles back, even though Kame can’t see it. “Any time.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
Later on, when they’re both dry and properly clean, Kame orders them a load of takeout, because even when he’s in good shape Jin’s cooking is toxic, and Kame’s limbs are too rubbery to safely work the stove right now. The no-hospitals rule forbids the attempt. They sit together on the bed in boxers and t-shirts with a load of sushi spread out in plastic containers around them, and Kame lets Jin have first dibs on the ootoro. Jin still leaves a piece for Kame.  
  
Kame is leaning into Jin’s shoulder in a way Jin is pretty sure he never would have dared a few hours ago, and every once in a while he stretches over and kisses Jin on the cheek. When Jin swipes at his face with the back of his hand and tells Kame to stop being such a big sap, Kame just grins, grabs his face, and plants one on his lips instead. Jin calls Kame a pathetic loser and wrinkles his nose to hide his smile as he turns back to his sushi.  
  
“That was way early on though,” Kame is saying around a mouthful of salmon roe. “Koki didn’t even know about us then, so it’s not like he was doing it on purpose. And we were still trying to keep things a secret, so…”  
  
“How did that happen, anyway?” Jin asks.  
  
“How did what happen?” Kame is surveying the containers near his knee, deciding between the unagi and the spicy salmon.  
  
“You and me. You never told me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“You know. How we got together. I mean, I remember us back then,” Jin says, motioning vaguely with his chopsticks, “and I get, you know, us now, but…what happened? How did we, like…bridge the gap?”  
  
Kame doesn’t say anything for a moment. When Jin glances over at him, Kame is watching him with a little smile, and Jin can’t tell if it’s because of the memory or because he’s just happy. Jin hopes it’s both.  
  
“You’re not going to slobber fish-breath all over me again, are you?”  
  
The smile spreads into a grin. Kame picks up the spicy salmon and scoots up against the headboard again, plastered against Jin’s side. Jin leans against Kame too, just a little bit, and Kame’s grin closes around a bite of seasoned salmon and rice.  
  
“It was a little over seven years ago,” Kame says, poking at the salmon roll with his chopsticks, looking for the next best piece. “Things had been sort of tense between us for a while.”  
  
“Tense like…‘tense’?” Jin asks.  
  
Kame shakes his head. “Not exactly. At least that’s not what I thought was going on, and you always told me that wasn’t…something you were thinking about, I guess. We just weren’t getting along. We fought over everything—every song, every costume, every rehearsal time. One time we got into it so bad after a location shoot that the other guys hopped in the van and talked the driver into leaving us there on the beach, in the middle of nowhere. We had to walk three miles just to get a strong enough cell signal to call a cab. You were really pissed.”  
  
Jin raises an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Okay, yeah, I was pissed too,” Kame admits, smirking over another bite of salmon.  
  
“‘Too’?” Jin challenges. “I seem to have some vague memory of a skinny little nobody sitting on my tailbone and threatening to snap my arms off just because I swiped his shampoo out of a hotel bathroom.”  
  
“That is  _so_  not what happened,” Kame laughs, pointing his chopsticks at Jin accusingly. “You left out the part about dropping my earring down the shower drain.”  
  
“Who leaves an expensive earring under a shampoo bottle?”  
  
“Someone who doesn’t want to lose it while he’s washing his hair.”  
  
“Well that worked well,” Jin smirks. “That’s what you get for leaving your stuff lying around unattended.”  
  
“I was in the shower  _with_  it.”  
  
Jin pauses mid-bite, squinting at the dresser opposite. “Oh yeah…”  
  
“Idiot.”  
  
“Hey,” Jin whines. “I have  _amnesia_ …”  
  
“You seemed to remember the rest of it pretty well,” Kame points out with a sideways look.  
  
Jin shrugs innocently. “What can I say? Amnesia’s a funny thing.”  
  
Kame grins at him as Jin fills his mouth with a slightly too large piece of unagi. “Yeah, well anyway…things were sort of rocky for a while, but they really got bad when you got that America thing.”  
  
Jin pauses, a weird prickly feeling flushing over the skin at the back of his neck. “America thing?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kame nods. “I can’t remember all the details, but apparently this producer wanted you to give a series of concerts in the U.S. It was…sort of a big deal, at the time. You were really excited about it—and you were really not happy with me for trying to talk you out of it.”  
  
Jin is watching Kame’s profile now, his unagi forgotten in his lap. There’s something seriously familiar about this. It’s not exactly like he remembers it happening, but he remembers hearing it somewhere, or at least knowing about it. Except there’s something about a rabbit in his version, which really doesn’t make any sense at all, and now he’s wondering if maybe his brains are a little more scrambled than he thinks they are.  
  
“It wasn’t like I didn’t get why you wanted to do it,” Kame explains, and he’s sort of stopped eating too. His brow is drawn into a thoughtful frown. “It was an exciting thing. No Johnny had ever gotten an offer like that before, and I understood that. But we had our own tour already scheduled for the summer, and with all that stuff about you leaving and coming back before that, and the way we were fighting and everything was sort of slowly coming apart at the seams—I knew that if you left then, the way things were, you wouldn’t come back. And I really didn’t want you to go.”  
  
Kame pokes at another piece of salmon with his chopsticks, but he doesn’t really seem to be planning on eating it.  
  
“We had a big fight about it, about a week before you were supposed to leave. You said you weren’t going to get stuck here just because I was a control freak who had to have everything his own way, and I threw a couch cushion at your head and told you to fuck off to America and stay there. And you left.”  
  
 _And he didn’t come back._  Jin hears it in his head, his own voice, like a bedtime story.  
  
“But then you came back.” A little smile tugs at the corners of Kame’s mouth. He’s still looking down at the salmon roll, but now as if it’s something cute and precious he’s been hiding away somewhere. “You said you didn’t want to leave things the way they were, and we ended up getting drunk and sloppy, and when I finally gave up trying to convince you I was right and just asked you not to go, to just stay here because I wanted you to, you kissed me. We had sex on the living room floor and fell asleep, and when I woke up you were still there next to me. We didn’t talk about America again, but the next thing I heard you had turned it down.”  
  
They’re both quiet for a few moments. Kame still reliving the memory. Jin staring at the dresser opposite and wondering why he feels like he’s heard the exact same story before, but with a very different ending. Almost like he—  
  
Dreamed it.  
  
Jin glances to the side when Kame leans over and kisses him on the shoulder. “Bakanishi’s first great sacrifice,” Kame says, with a mildly teasing grin. “I was very proud of you. And very grateful.”  
  
Jin stares at him, and somewhere in the back of his mind he remembers bright lights and noise, a setlist in English, gorgeous blondes throwing bikini tops at the stage, and it’s like it’s real, it’s like it’s coming back to him from somewhere far away, just like the Fox and Hound, except it doesn’t fit. Because Kame is telling him right now that it never happened.  
  
But it feels so real.  
  
Noise and sweat and silence. An empty hotel room full of booze and bodies, cold and writhing with heat. Home and love and quiet and everything on his shoulders, no one to argue with him or push him around, and stupid songs that mean nothing and Kame nowhere, until suddenly Kame is everywhere and it feels like life again. Like music again, even if it’s in the shadows, tucked away somewhere for no one else to see.  
  
Jin doesn’t even notice when he reaches for Kame’s hand, just holds on and reminds himself that this is real, that Kame’s here. That the lonely crush is only in his mind and it can’t reach him here in their apartment, where it’s warm.


	9. Chapter 9

Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Fridays are the days he’s with Kana. It actually does get easier, over time, and he starts to think maybe he just never gave it enough of a chance before. Not like they don’t have moments where he wants to tear his hair out by the roots, like the time she poured his cologne in the bathtub and ended up taking the smelliest, most expensive bubble bath of her entire young life—but the more time they spend together during the days, the better he gets at seeing those moments coming and heading them off at the pass. Not like he hasn’t been helping to take care of her these past few years, but it’s different when it’s just the two of them for the whole day. There’s a different rhythm to everything when there’s so much unstructured time. Kana takes unstructured time, balls it up in her tiny fists, and eats it for breakfast.  
  
Jin has never been great at structure, but he’s really learning to love it.  
  
He even starts to figure out ways to get a little bit of writing done without risking any further kitchen disasters. When Kana hits her midafternoon slump, sometimes he can get her to curl up on the couch next to him while he gets out his guitar and fools around for a little while. At first he just played old stuff, some his and some not, anything quiet and soothing he could think of to encourage her nod off and give them both a breather—but lately he’s been making things up too, little snatches of melody, most without words, but with thoughts in them that might turn into words someday. If he picks at them for a while. If he comes up with anything good, he jots it down in his notebook.  
  
He eventually finishes the dance track from hell too. It’ll be on the album. He doesn’t have enough material to be choosy right now, and they’re running behind schedule as it is. But maybe he can bury it toward the end, between a couple of acoustics if he manages to finish another one.  
  
On Mondays and Thursdays, Jin’s alarm goes off a full hour earlier than usual, but he gets up on the first buzz. He fixes Kana’s breakfast and puts coffee on for him and Meisa while he goes to help Kana get dressed, makes sure nothing is on backwards or inside out. Kana eats her breakfast at the kitchen table, and Jin sips coffee and munches on a Power Bar while he does the dishes. By the time Meisa is up, the sink is spotless. Meisa gets to sleep in a bit more now that she doesn’t have to drop Kana off at daycare on her way to the studio.  
  
Jin told Meisa he thought the regular morning walk would do him good, help him get his brain moving so he can get more work done during the day. She seemed pleased with his initiative. He tries not to let that bother him too much.  
  
Jin and Kana play twenty questions on the walk to the daycare—sometimes literally, and sometimes because that’s just what it means to have a conversation with Kana these days. Last Thursday she asked him what the difference between a sea and an ocean was, and he talked himself around in circles for about five minutes before he finally realized he really had no idea what the technical difference was. “I guess oceans are bigger?” he decided. She seemed satisfied with that, and he promised himself a few moments with an encyclopedia later just to make sure he hadn’t lead her completely astray.  
  
After he drops her off, he heads over to Kame’s.  
  
Kame is always dressed and full of energy when he gets there, just as Jin’s morning coffee is wearing off—but the routine works out perfectly for both of them. Jin relishes the excuse to crawl into Kame’s bed and let Kame have his wicked way with him, and Kame is more than happy to burn off a bit of his freakish morning energy by doing all the work. By the time they’re both finished they meet somewhere in the middle of the laziness spectrum, tangled together in Kame’s soft cotton sheets.  
  
Kame showers first while Jin dozes in the middle of the mattress, all of Kame’s pillows gathered up in his arms as if he’s tried to make a face-down snow angel and given up halfway. When Kame comes out, smelling like shampoo and something warm, he glides a hand down Jin’s back and pinches his butt cheek, making him twitch.  
  
“Your turn,” he says, soothing over the pinch.  
  
Jin mumbles into the pillows, but Kame seems to understand what he said, because Jin hears his bare feet wander away down the hall. Jin dozes for another minute or two before finding his way to the edge of the bed and crawling out from under the covers, going to shower as well.  
  
When he comes out he can still smell Kame and shampoo and the faint traces of sex, but he also smells something else. Something delicious.  
  
He follows the deliciousness down the hall, towel draped around his shoulders as he scrubs at his hair to keep the drips from soaking his t-shirt. The table is set for two, and Kame is in the kitchen fussing over the deliciousness by the oven.  
  
“What’s that?” Jin asks, leaning against the doorframe.  
  
“It’s—ow!” Kame yanks his hand back from the oven, shakes it a moment and inspects his finger. He reaches for a second hotpad near the stove and goes back to work. “It’s a surprise. Sit down.”  
  
Jin sits. Every once in a while he closes his eyes and takes a deep sniff, leg jittering impatiently under the table. It smells awesome. He’s so hungry. Ten minutes ago he wasn’t even thinking about food, but now he thinks he might seriously eat all of whatever it is Kame’s making. Before Kame even gets any.  
  
“Close your eyes,” Kame calls over his shoulder.  
  
Jin does.  
  
He hears Kame’s bare feet shifting on the kitchen tile, a couple of plates clinking together as he comes closer. “No peaking,” Kame says as he sets something down in front of Jin. Jin just shakes his head obediently, eyes firmly shut, a broad smile on his face that he can’t seem to get rid of.  
  
“Okay,” Kame says, and Jin hears him shifting his chair up to the table. “Open.”  
  
Jin opens.  
  
There, sitting in front of him on one of Kame’s nice plates with the little blue stripe around the edge that matches the hand towels in the bathroom and the dish towels in the kitchen, is a big fat square of perfect lasagna. With a candle in the middle.  
  
Jin snorts a laugh as he glances from the plate up to Kame.  
  
“Happy 3 a.m. lasagna day,” Kame says. He’s trying to look cool, but Jin catches him biting his lip.  
  
“3 a.m.?”  
  
Kame’s smile turns sideways. “Yeah, I know—but I  _made_  it at 3 a.m., after I got back from filming. Just put it in the oven today. It still counts.”  
  
Jin stares at the lasagna again. It looks almost too good to eat.  
  
“Well?” Kame prompts. “Aren’t you going to make a wish? Better do it quick before the wax drips into the cheese.”  
  
Jin chuckles and leans in, blowing out the little candle. He forgets to make a wish, but he can’t think of anything he wants right now anyway. Kame plucks the candle out of the top of the lasagna and puts it on an empty side plate, watches with his hands folded under his chin as Jin digs in.  
  
“I’m not really so good with pasta,” Kame babbles as Jin hums his ecstasy over the first bite. “I only make it every once in a while, and this stuff is sort of…complicated. I think I got all the pieces though. I bought a book, but I changed the recipe, so it might be—just, tell me if anything important is missing. Or if there’s too much of something. Or not enough.”  
  
The noodles are a little overcooked, just to the mushy side of al dente. The layers are sort of uneven, and some of the meat seems like it got chopped up more than the rest. There’s a big pocket of ricotta in one spot and the mozzarella could be spread around a little more. But there’s extra cheese and no onions, and Kame bought a book and made it for him at 3 a.m. after filming. It’s the best lasagna he’s ever had.  
  
“It’s perfect,” he says.  
  
Jin polishes off his first slice in minutes and accepts a second one when Kame offers. He really is still hungry for more, but even if he weren’t it would be worth it just to see Kame’s pleased expression when he brings him his second helping. After lunch they grab a couple of beers and take them to the couch, feet tangled together on the coffee table while they watch some game show involving a vat of cornstarch that nobody wants to get dropped into. Everybody does.  
  
“But I couldn’t possibly eat pasta  _every_  day,” Kame says, taking a sip of his beer. His other hand is on Jin’s thigh, and Jin is playing with his pointer finger, inspecting the weirdly perfect manicure that matches his weirdly perfect eyebrows.  
  
“You totally do.”  
  
“Delusional.”  
  
“Well, okay, maybe not every day—but most days.”  
  
“Haven’t I even tried to expand your horizons a little bit?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. Then he remembers mid-sip. “Oh, we ordered sushi a couple of weeks ago. After I jerked you off in the shower.”  
  
Kame raises an eyebrow over the neck of his bottle. “I thought you were supposed to be sick. And have amnesia.”  
  
Jin gives him a sly look. “I’m getting better.”  
  
Kame hums something between skepticism and disapproval as he shifts closer to Jin on the couch, resting his head on Jin’s shoulder.  
  
“It’s really nice though,” Jin says after a bit. The people on the screen have been allowed to change clothes, but they still have cornstarch in their hair from the last game as they take turns trying to climb up a greased pole standing in the middle of a swimming pool filled with miso soup. “You and me, in the dreams. It’s weird, and I know it’s not real, but it’s nice. It’s like we used to be, but without the bad stuff. Well, different bad stuff.”  
  
“So I haven’t thrown a hairdryer at you yet?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. “And I haven’t ripped your favorite shirt.”  
  
“Oh, man, I forgot about that one,” Kame grumbles. “That really pissed me off. I couldn’t even get it repaired.”  
  
“Sorry,” Jin mumbles, but there’s a little bit of a smile there, and Kame’s hand is still in his. And it’s different. Different from the dreams and different from before, but he still doesn’t want to let go.  
  
“You take care of me,” Jin says. “For the first few days after you brought me back from the hospital, you even washed my hair for me. And you keep telling me stories about vacations we’ve been on together and stuff that happened during the time I can’t remember, and all I can think is, man, I want to go so bad. I want to live like that. I want to be happy like that. And then I wake up and I know it’s not real, but I still miss it. Even with the bad stuff, there’s something so easy about it.”  
  
Jin takes another sip of his beer and rests it against his thigh, running his thumbnail over the edge of the label. “I guess that’s the thing about dreams. Always easier than real life.”  
  
There’s silence for a moment. “Yeah,” Kame says, and his voice sounds a little scratchy. “Dreams are funny that way.”  
  
Kame’s wearing a heavy silver ring with a black skull stamped on it on his right pointer finger. Jin’s left hand is bare. He keeps his wedding ring in his pocket when he comes over here, just because. Neither one of them really needs the reminder. That’s not what this is about.  
  
When Kame looks down at their hands, he has to stop himself from pulling away and trying to hide it. He’s pretty sure Kame can see what’s missing. It’s there anyway, whether he wears it or not.  
  
Kame eases his hand out from underneath Jin’s, untangles his foot from between Jin’s legs and gets to his feet.  
  
“Want another drink?” he asks. He’s going for light, but there’s something leaden in the middle of it. He doesn’t look at Jin’s face.  
  
Jin lifts his half-full beer bottle and tries a smile, though Kame won’t see it. “I’m fine,” he says. He takes Kame’s hand and tugs gently. “Stay here.”  
  
Kame twists his hand out of Jin’s grip a little less gently this time, like he’s trying not to just shrug him off. “I’ll be back in a minute.”  
  
Jin follows him with his eyes until he disappears into the kitchen. When he turns back to the TV he finds the pretty girl from the red team has made it halfway up the pole by using the soles of her sneakers to gain a little traction. The others on the team are cheering her on as if she’s just sprouted wings and demonstrated the ability to fly. The middle aged man has pole grease all over his arms and face, mingling with the cornstarch.  
  
When the girl loses her grip just inches from the goal and goes tumbling backwards into the pool, Jin realizes Kame still hasn’t come back yet. He glances over his shoulder, but Kame is nowhere in view. Jin puts his beer down on the coffee table and gets up, wiping his palms on the back of his jeans as he steps quietly over to peer into the kitchen.  
  
Kame is standing over the sink with his empty beer bottle still in his hands. He’s fingering the neck of the bottle, turning it pensively in his hand, but he’s staring out the window at nothing. When Jin says his name, he startles, sets the bottle down on the counter and picks up a pan that’s been soaking since lunch, trying to act like that was what he was doing all along. Jin’s not buying it.  
  
“Is everything okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Kame says. A little too quickly.  
  
“Are you sure? Because you seem a little bit not fine.”  
  
“Well then your ‘fine’ radar must be broken, because I’m really fine,” he says, scrubbing at the pan with the lumpy sponge squeezed tightly in his fist.  
  
Jin steps into the room and leans into the corner of the counter near the sink, so he can see Kame’s face without crowding him too much. His expression doesn’t reveal much, and Jin thinks  _not this again_ , without even really knowing what “this” is. Which is exactly the problem.  
  
“Kame—”  
  
“I said I’m  _fine_ , goddammit,” Kame snaps, slamming the pan against the inside of the sink, and the noise makes Jin think either the pan or the basin has got to have a crack or two to show for it. Kame deflates almost immediately, swiping the back of his hand angrily across his cheek and leaving a soapy trail that would be funny if he didn’t look so upset.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kame says, tossing the sponge back into the sink with the pan. And he really sounds sorry, but Jin is more worried about how sad he sounds. “It’s just—this is all so fucked up.”  
  
Jin swallows. This time he definitely knows what “this” is, and he kind of wishes he’d stayed out on the couch and left Kame to his own devices, because he’s not sure he’s up for this. Inviting the elephant into the spotlight.  
  
“Why do I keep letting you do this?”  
  
“Hey,” Jin bristles, not willing to be treated like a child. Even if he’s acting like one. “It’s not your responsibility to make me do or not do anything. I’m not your idiot sidekick anymore, remember?”  
  
Kame glances over at him, and the dry look in his eyes makes Jin wish he wouldn’t. That look is telling him something Jin knows he should get, but he doesn’t, and it makes him feel stupid. Which is not the position he wants to work from in this conversation.  
  
“It’s not your fault, the way things are,” he says, trying to navigate around the blind spot. “You’re not my keeper.”  
  
“No, I’m just the guy who’s fucking you behind your wife’s back.”  
  
And there it is. Jin doesn’t know what to say to that.  
  
Kame looks angry, but Jin can’t tell whether he’s angrier with Jin or with himself. Either way there’s nothing he can say to make it better. It’s true. It’s not pretty, but it’s true, and it is fucked up—this whole thing is fucked up. He’s not even sure what he’s doing here, only that he needs this right now, and the thought of giving it up and going back to the way things were makes him feel cold and hollow and a little bit scared.  
  
“Do you…want me to leave?”  
  
There’s a long silence, punctuated only by Jin’s mind chattering in the background.  _Say no, say no, say no, please say no._ Kame presses his lips together in a little frown and closes his eyes. He looks like he’s thinking hard, and Jin wishes he would stop. Thinking isn’t good for this. This whole arrangement works best when there’s absolutely no thinking involved.  
  
Kame sighs and opens his eyes again, staring into the sink. “No,” he admits. “I don’t.”  
  
 _Thank god._  
  
Jin pushes off from the counter and walks over to Kame. When he reaches out to wrap his arms around Kame’s shoulders, Kame surprises him with how quickly he snakes his own arms around Jin’s waist and leans into him. His body feels stiff, but his hands are fisted in the back of Jin’s shirt, damp and soapy, and Jin can’t help wondering what he’s holding onto so tightly. What he’s afraid of losing if he lets go.  
  
*      *      *  
  
When Jin gets home with Kana, the house is full of cooking smells, and Meisa is in the kitchen. She looks cheerful. She tells him she got off work early and decided to fix dinner for them for a change—that’s been Jin’s job lately, though his dinners have mostly been instant meals and takeout. The results of his attempts at real cooking aren’t suitable for a growing child.  
  
Meisa is talking to him more now. They don’t see all that much of each other still—she’s still filming, and he’s stretched thinner than usual between Kana and the album and…other things. But when they do cross paths she sometimes even initiates conversation, telling him about her work, asking about his. Almost like they used to be, back in the beginning when things were easier. He only wishes there weren’t so much he’s hiding from her, so much he has to be careful about.  
  
After dinner, Jin cleans up while Meisa puts Kana to bed. When he comes out of the kitchen, she’s sitting in the middle of the couch watching a rerun of the same game show he was watching with Kame that afternoon. She usually hates these kinds of shows, but she knows he thinks they’re funny. When he sits down in one corner of the couch, she scoots closer and laces their fingers together, and he gets a really uncomfortable, guilty feeling of déjà vu.  
  
After a little while, she leans over and kisses him softly on the cheek.  
  
“I’ve noticed, you know,” she says.  
  
Jin feels a jolt of sheer panic, but tries not to show it. Meisa still looks happy. It can’t be what he’s thinking.  
  
“Noticed what?”  
  
She waits until he looks at her. He waits until he can do so with a casually quizzical smile.  
  
“That you’re trying,” she says. “You’re really stepping up—with Kana, with stuff around the house. I mean, I know sometimes I can be overcritical and blow things out of proportion, and I know you have your own work and obligations—I understand that, really. I’m not trying to push everything onto your shoulders, and I know I can be a bitch sometimes when my schedule gets too crammed—I’m working on that. But you’re really helping, a lot, and I want you to know that I appreciate it. It makes me really happy.”  
  
Jin smiles back, but inside he’s thinking,  _Oh shit. I am such a fucking asshole._  
  
He only wishes he weren’t right.  
  
A crazy self-destructive part of him wants to pull away from her and tell her how wrong she is, how much she should hate him right now, how tidying up a few dishes and taking care of his own daughter pales in comparison to what he’s doing behind her back, and the dishes are just his slimy, selfish, stupid attempt to cover his tracks, half-assed as always. But he can’t do that. Because she looks so happy, and this is what he wanted, the two of them close again like this. Like life hasn’t beaten out of them every good feeling they’ve ever had for each other. This should be a good thing. He only ever wanted to make her happy.  
  
It’s the truth. He only ever wanted to make her happy. He just didn’t want to have to actually give up anything to do it.  
  
She leans in and kisses him, and for a moment it’s a relief, because at least she’s not looking at him anymore. If she looks at him too long, he’s sure she’ll see it. But when her head tilts gently, lips parting against his, a whole new fear jolts through him, and he feels his stomach pressed against Kame’s mattress, his feet tangled in Kame’s sheets. She’s soft and kind and looking at him, and she’s  _Meisa_  again, and he’s…he can’t…  
  
She trails kisses along his jaw, lingering against the side of his throat and breathing him in. She hums appreciatively, and he feels it ripple against his skin. “You smell good,” she murmurs. “New shampoo?”  
  
His pulse jumps, but he manages to smooth over the hesitation in his fingers on her shoulders and nod. “Yeah. Thought I’d try something different.”  
  
Yeah. Right.  
  
He feels her smile, and then she’s kissing him again. Her lips are warm and soft and she tastes nothing like Kame. He wonders if she can taste Kame on him.  
  
His mind is racing and he’s trying to hold himself steady. He’s sitting here with the one person he’s made any real promises to, and suddenly he feels like he’s cheating on everyone at once by letting her kiss him, by kissing her back. The Kame in his mind, the Kame in his body, but most of all Meisa herself. Because she’s the only one who doesn’t know what she’s doing.  
  
She seems to sense his hesitation, and he’s guiltily relieved when she settles back, her arms still looped around his shoulders. She’s still smiling, but she doesn’t seem to have an agenda. Maybe it’s okay. Maybe he can still get out of this before he makes a fucked up situation even more fucked up.  
  
She runs her fingertips over his forehead thoughtfully, just above his eyebrow, and for a moment he thinks she must see the scar, wonders how to explain it. Then he remembers he’s a lunatic and there’s nothing there to explain. Not on the surface, anyway.  
  
“Is your head still bothering you?” she asks.  
  
“My head?” He doesn’t remember telling her anything about the headaches, and now he wonders how much else has fallen into the cracks of his amnesia. The amnesia he doesn’t have, he reminds himself again.  
  
She smiles a bit wryly. “I’ve had to restock the aspirin three times this month. And I noticed you always rubbing at your forehead.”  
  
Jin smiles back, aiming for sheepish, hoping to bypass terrified. The dishes, the shampoo, the aspirin. God, what else has she noticed. “It’s nothing. Just a headache. Probably all the crappy music I’ve been writing lately.”  
  
She grins, leans in to kiss him on the tip of his nose. “Come on, it can’t be that bad.”  
  
“Why do you think I haven’t let you hear any of it?”  
  
Of course, they both know the real answer is, “because we’ve barely spoken in six months.” But they ignore that.  
  
They watch the rest of the game show, Meisa leaning against his shoulder. He missed the end of it this afternoon, so at least he doesn’t have to feign surprise at the outcome. The girl who almost managed the greased pole holds a cartoonish trophy above her head as the rest of her team clap and bounce in awkward excitement. When it’s over, Jin changes the channel and they watch a little bit of a talk show Meisa likes. The guest is some director guy that Jin feels he probably should have heard of but hasn’t. Meisa lists a couple of his recent films, and Jin vaguely recognizes one of the titles, but it’s not like he gets out to movies much these days. And they sound sort of art-housey anyway.  
  
As the interview finishes, the host turns to the camera and starts talking about next week, some kind of cooking contest involving various types of seafood, a performance of a new single from some rock band, a travelogue following one of the other hosts to a couple of historic sites in Kyoto.  
  
“…plus, an exclusive interview with KAT-TUN’s Kamenashi Kazuya, who will be here to tell us all about his latest film.”  
  
Jin doesn’t breathe. He waits for something—anything. A twitch of her hand. A stiffening against him. A startled gasp as she somehow puts all the scattered pieces together. But it never comes.  
  
“Hey, that could be fun,” she mumbles sleepily against his shoulder. When he glances down, he sees her eyes are closed. She still looks happy. “We should set the DVR.”  
  
When the credits finish rolling and give way to the beginning of some creepy crime drama, she finally rouses herself and gets up, scratching an itch at the center of her back and turning toward the bedroom.  
  
“You coming?” she asks when she pauses in the doorway, eyelids drooping a bit, and sees he still hasn’t moved from the couch.  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “Just a sec.”  
  
She disappears into the bedroom, and he turns off the TV. He stops by the kitchen just to check and make sure all the dishes he washed earlier are still in the drying rack, none of them have grown legs and started wandering around on their own. He picks up the nearest glass and tilts it over, peering inside. It’s nearly dry anyway. He picks up the dishtowel and wipes away the few remaining drops of water, puts it away in the cupboard and closes it quietly. There. One less glass to put away in the morning.  
  
She’s climbing under the covers while he changes into his sleep shirt, takes off his jeans and folds them over the hamper. He slides in on his side, and she immediately scoots over. For a moment he almost panics again—because maybe she does still have plans and he just missed it, under all the sleepiness and his own confused thoughts—but she doesn’t start anything. Just wraps her arm around his middle and rests her head on his chest, leaning into him when he loops his arm around her shoulders as well. She’s asleep within minutes.  
  
Jin lies on his back on the mattress all night staring at the ceiling, Meisa tucked cozily against his side. He doesn’t sleep a wink.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Jin tries in vain to pull the thin gown closed at his back, but it gaps open again as soon as he sits forward, letting in the chilly draft. His shoulders sag in resignation and he rests his palms on the edge of the examination table, trying not to shiver. His heels kick lightly against the cabinet underneath him as he stares around the small white room. At least they let him keep his socks on.  
  
He wonders what time it is. Why don’t they put clocks in these places? Maybe it’s like a casino—they want to keep you in here for as long as possible, until you have no idea whether it’s night or day, and all you can think of is to keep putting coins in the slot and pulling that lever. Or, you know, giving blood samples and letting strangers poke at your clammy skin in the name of science and making sure you’re not going to die. Which is perhaps a slightly more benevolent aim.  
  
Couldn’t they at least leave a blanket or something in here though?  
  
Jin glances over as the door opens, breathing a small sigh of relief when the doctor walks in. The real doctor this time—the one he recognizes. Finally he’s seeing a light at the end of this cold, drafty tunnel.  
  
“Well, Akanishi-san,” the doctor says pleasantly as he crosses to the lightbox on the wall and sticks a couple of slides into the slot, “you’ll be very happy to know that your CT scans came out clean—no signs of hemorrhaging or recurrent injury.” He’s pointing at certain spots on the slides as if they’re supposed to illustrate the point, but all Jin can take away from them is that apparently his brain looks vaguely like an extremely moldy peach. Or sometimes a butterfly, if he squints at it right.  
  
The doctor says something else about bloodwork as he flips through Jin’s charts and then steps over to look at his face, and Jin doesn’t understand any of that either except that it’s all apparently good news.  
  
“Have there been any other problems, aside from the headaches?” the doctor asks. His thumbs are pulling gently at the skin below Jin’s eyes, and he’s looking through his face like some kind of rather touchy-feely mindreader.  
  
Jin gives a tiny shake of his head, not wanting to disrupt the doctor while he’s looking for whatever he’s looking for. “Not that I’ve noticed. I’m almost back to normal, really.” Well, as far as he knows, anyway. Which reminds him of another question.  
  
The doctor seems satisfied that Jin’s eyes are still firmly located in the right spot on his head and lets go of his cheeks with a little nod. He steps away to note something on his charts. Jin peers over his shoulder a little just out of habit, but he knows he wouldn’t understand it even if he could decipher the spidery scribbles.  
  
“Actually,” he says, “I did have one question.”  
  
“Mm?” the doctor mumbles, his mind still half on the chart.  
  
Jin waits until he finishes with his thought and tucks the pen away in his breast pocket again. “I was wondering…how long do you think it will be before I get my memories back?”  
  
The doctor’s eyes remain on his chart, still skimming over a grid of numbers that look like a Sudoku puzzle full of decimals. Jin feels the slight sigh more than hears it. When the doctor looks up at him again, his eyes are kind, and so is his smile. Kind, but not optimistic.  
  
Yeah. He had a feeling it wasn’t going to be good news.  
  
“As I told you before, Akanishi-san,” he says gently, “it’s different in every case. Sometimes memories return within hours or days, other times it can be months or even years before any part of the memories are recovered. However,” his expression turns slightly grim, “in general, the more time passes without signs of significant improvement, the less likely it becomes that your memories will ever be fully recovered.”  
  
Jin’s pulse flutters uncomfortably just beneath his skin. His mouth feels dry, and he swallows, but it doesn’t really help. He stares at the little black pen in the doctor’s pocket, turning the words over in his mind. Somehow he knew even before he asked the question what the answer would be. A couple of vague flashes of apparent memory from his strangely coherent dreams, a few things that seemed somehow more familiar than they ought to be, but that’s it so far. He can page through albums and albums of photographs, listen to Kame’s stories about their life together until all hours of the night, but still none of the recollections are really his. He keeps trying, but so far he hasn’t been able to find any trace of them inside himself.  
  
“How long?” he asks, meeting the doctor’s eyes again. “How long before—before I know for sure?”  
  
The doctor sighs. He folds his hands together around the edge of the chart and rests them in front of him, and although his eyes are still kind, they also meet him frankly. “In a majority of cases like yours…approximately eight weeks from the time of injury. After that, recovery becomes extremely unlikely.”  
  
Eight weeks. Jin flips through the calendar in his mind, counts the rows of blue X’s he never made from the day he woke up in the hospital. Eight weeks.  
  
Only one week left.  
  
The doctor leaves him in peace to change back into his normal clothes. Jin does so slowly, in a trance, running over their conversation and what it means. What it means for him, for his career, for his life from this point on. For Kame.  
  
It’s not completely unexpected. He’s always known that this was a distinct possibility, and in some ways he’s almost come to terms with it. He can’t actually remember, after all, so he doesn’t exactly know what he’s missing. Or he didn’t, in the beginning. When he thinks of the photo album, he does. That’s the only time it really hurts. Everything else is replaceable, rebuildable, but those years with Kame, everything going back to the start of their current relationship, everything leading them to where they are now, or at least where they were before the accident—it’s hard to think that it might all just be gone. That all he’ll ever have are the photographs to prove that it happened at all.  
  
He wanders through the winding hallways, past other examination rooms and labs. He takes a wrong turn somewhere and nearly ends up back in radiology, but then he retraces his steps and finds the turn he missed. When he steps back out into the lobby, Kame is there. Jin catches a brief glimpse of the nervous frown, the way his eyes look through the magazine on his lap and his foot jiggles as he pretends to read.  
  
But then Kame notices him standing there and it all disappears behind a wide smile. He sets the magazine on the table next to him and gets up, coming over to meet him.  
  
“Hey,” Kame says, hands in his back pockets like everything’s fine and easy. “Everything check out okay?”  
  
Jin feels the hitch, just a moment, before he smiles. He hopes Kame doesn’t see it. “Of course,” he says, affecting smugness. “The doc says I’m a perfect specimen of a man. I told you you were worrying over nothing.”  
  
Kame chuckles. “Silly me,” he says, sliding his hand into Jin’s and leading the way toward the exit.  
  
“So, all the tests came back okay?”  
  
“Yep,” Jin bobs his head as they stroll through the parking lot at a leisurely pace. “My gobbledygook levels are perfect, and my brain is all…wrinkled in exactly the right shape. And my eyes are still in my head, apparently.”  
  
Kame laughs. “You know, I think you might have missed your calling. You should have gone to medical school.”  
  
“Nah. Far less likely I’d have been paired up with such a hot co-worker that way,” he says sweetly, squeezing Kame’s hand. “Although I might have been paired with someone taller. Ow!” He hops for a couple of steps after Kame carefully stomps on his toes. “Someone nicer too,” Jin grumbles through a grin.  
  
“Shut up, or it’s rice and raw eggs for dinner tonight.” Kame fishes his keys out of his pocket and unlocks the car for them. Jin has to let go of Kame’s hand to climb into the passenger’s seat. Once Kame settles in beside him and puts the key in the ignition, he turns to Jin again, and Jin can see a little bit of the worry from earlier coming back.  
  
“Are you sure everything is okay?” he asks. “Because I hope you know you can tell me if it’s not. You don’t have to…protect me, or anything.”  
  
Jin looks at him for a long moment, and thinks maybe he actually should tell him. Maybe Kame should know. Kame’s a grownup, he can handle the hard stuff. Even if it hurts.  
  
But he just gives him another small smile and shakes his head. There’s still a week left—the doctor said so. Anything can happen in a week. No need to worry Kame unnecessarily before the time is even up. “I told you, I’m fine,” he says, in a voice he hopes is solid and reassuring. And it’s not a lie anyway—he  _is_  fine. Physically. “Really—I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”  
  
Kame looks at him for a moment longer, and it’s a little bit like the way the doctor was looking at him earlier, like he’s trying to read something past Jin’s face. Then he smiles back, and gives a nod. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks. I’m glad.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jin won’t see Kame again for a week. He has a studio session on Thursday, and he begs off Monday because he has to finish up the songs he’s supposed to sing. At least that’s what he tells Kame. He feels guilty for the lie, but that just makes him feel even more like a hypocrite. Because he feels worse for lying to the guy who’s fucking him behind his wife’s back than he feels for fucking around on her in the first place.  
  
It really is fucked up.  
  
When he gets back home after dropping Kana off at the daycare, the apartment is empty. Meisa is already gone for the day, her coffee cup rinsed and drying by the sink. He hasn’t spent much time in this apartment while it’s empty lately, because whenever it’s empty he’s usually at Kame’s. He’s almost forgotten how quiet it can get.  
  
He doesn’t like the quiet. Leaves too much room for thinking.  
  
Everything is fine, he reminds himself. Things are getting better for all of them. They’re starting to talk again, a little bit. Except not about the important things, because she doesn’t know the important things. If she did, they probably wouldn’t be talking anymore. The only thing wrong is something he has complete control over. He can fix it, if he chooses to. He can make it go away, and then everything really will be perfect again. Like it used to be. Like it should have been.  
  
There’s a little bit of work to do, but not enough. He does it anyway. He makes himself a snack around eleven, then goes back to the computer to keep working, but he just ends up playing solitaire for a while. He picks up his guitar, but even the first few notes make him think of leftover spaghetti in Kame’s kitchen, so he puts it away again almost immediately.  
  
He’s dying for a cigarette.  
  
He quit not long after Kana was born. Meisa didn’t mind about the alcohol as long as he kept things responsible and away from young eyes, but she put her foot down about the smoking, and he agreed. It sucked. He tried patches and gums first, but eventually he just quit cold turkey. Only a couple of relapses, really early on. He hasn’t thought about smoking in years.  
  
Maybe it’s like that. Maybe if he just quits, it’ll suck for a while, but then he’ll get past it, and he won’t even think about it anymore.  
  
He pulls a bag of cheese puffs out of the kitchen cupboard, the high one where he keeps all the junk food Kana shouldn’t have that he has a taste for, and curls up on the couch. Starts to watch a game show, but that reminds him too, so he switches to the news. It’s boring, but it doesn’t remind him of anything except how bored he is, and he figures he really ought to be watching stuff like this more regularly anyway, keeping up with the goings on in the world.  
  
As the newsreader is mumbling about some kind of crisis in the Caucasus—Jin’s not even sure where that is—his eyes fall closed and he just starts listening to the man’s soothing voice like a string of sounds. Like music. His arms curl around the half-empty bag of cheese puffs and pull it a little closer, and gradually the newsreader’s voice starts to sound more like soft snoring, and the cheese puffs are something warm and soft and heavy against his arm and they smell much better than they did a few moments ago.  
  
His eyes flutter open on Kame’s shoulder, his hair dark against the pillow in the dim light, and Jin feels like crying. He doesn’t even know why. He pulls him closer and closes his eyes again, breathes deeply into Kame’s shoulder. Kame just sleeps.  
  
There’s a little trumpety theme from the TV, and Jin startles, Kame slipping through his fingers in exchange for the stupid cheese puffs, and now the newsreader is throwing the broadcast to a meteorologist standing in front of a map of Japan. 60% chance of rain in Osaka this afternoon.  
  
Jin shoves the cheese puffs off the couch and ignores the sound of them scattering across the floor. He rolls over onto his stomach and buries his face in the couch cushion. He wants to scream in frustration, but it won’t come out, gets stuck somewhere in his throat, so he just punches the armrest above his head instead.  
  
How do you quit smoking when every time you close your eyes you dream of cigarettes?  
  
Jin jumps when something buzzes against his hip. Twisting onto his side, he digs out the phone, half hoping, half hating himself for hoping.  
  
It’s Pi.  
  
“Bastard,” Pi greets him when he finally answers.  
  
“What did I do now?” Jin says, curling one arm underneath his head and settling down again, staring at the mess of cheese puffs spread out under the coffee table.  
  
“You said you’d call, and then you didn’t. I’m starting to question the entire nature of our relationship. Don’t I mean  _anything_ to you?”  
  
Jin blinks. Pulls the phone away from his ear and double-checks that it is in fact Pi calling. Double-checks his memory to make sure he hasn’t absentmindedly turned more than one of his old friends into a fuck buddy recently. Awake or asleep.  
  
“Dude, can you not mess with me right now? My head’s fucked up enough as it is,” he says finally.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“It’s…complicated.”  
  
“That’s…cryptic. What are you doing right now?”  
  
“Lying in the fetal position on the couch stranded in a sea of cheese puffs. What are you doing?”  
  
“Coming to rescue you,” Pi says. “Have you had lunch?”  
  
Jin wants to kiss Pi. Though given his current track record he’s a little afraid of where it might lead. He settles for kissing the phone. “No. Well, I mean, I ate some of the cheese puffs, but…no. Lunch would be good.”  
  
“Ten minutes?”  
  
“I’ll be ready.”  
  
Jin pushes himself up to sit as soon as they hang up. He almost climbs over the back of the couch and leaves the cheese puffs for later, but then he remembers there are reasons why he’s trying extra-specially hard to be a responsible grownup lately, and leaving gigantic orange messes for other people to clean up is not grownup behavior. And anyway, if they’re still here when he picks Kana up from daycare the gigantic orange mess will end up crushed into the carpet for all eternity.  
  
He’s just dumping the last of the cheese puffs and a couple of damp orange paper towels into the trash can when the doorbell rings. He grabs his phone and his jacket on the way to answer it, and he and Pi set off down the street toward their favorite lunch spot just a few blocks away.  
  
The place isn’t crowded—part of the reason they like it—and just by walking in the door they reduce the average age of the clientele by about half, so no one bothers them as they settle themselves at a table in the corner and each order their usual. Pi tells him about filming that morning while they dig into their food. Rain delays during an early shoot somewhere in Yokohama. Jin listens to Pi’s voice like he listened to the newscaster, not absorbing much meaning. Though at least this music is pleasant and friendly and doesn’t make him feel like he’d really rather be somewhere else.  
  
“So,” Pi says finally, when they’ve finished what they want of their meals and they’re each settling back with a beer. “You going to tell me what lead to the Tokyo cheese puff disaster of 2017?”  
  
Jin gives him a look, then glances away. He takes a deep sip of his beer, but it tastes a little flatter than it did a minute ago. He sets it down on the table, but doesn’t let it go. “I’m the disaster,” he says, turning the bottle in a slow circle with his thumb. It leaves a wet ring on the tabletop. Pi doesn’t say anything.  
  
Jin glances past Pi’s shoulder, just making sure. There’s a party of middle-aged businessmen over in the corner, but they’re all caught up in their own drinks and conversation. A younger guy is bussing tables a little nearer, but he looks too busy to pay attention to anything but the dishes. Their server is back in the kitchen, and through the narrow gap of the pass he can see the staff bustling back and forth, not paying any attention to the sparsely populated dining room.  
  
He looks down at his beer again. “I’m cheating on Meisa.”  
  
His stomach clenches when he hears it, like his body is trying to take it back for him, or maybe deny it’s the truth at all—but it’s weird too. It almost feels good to say it out loud. And bad. He’s not proud of it, but he’s been hiding it for so long, and to pass the secret along to someone who doesn’t have a stake in the situation is almost a relief. Almost.  
  
“It just sort of…happened,” he explains when Pi still doesn’t say anything, and the silence feels flat too. “I didn’t plan on it. There’s been all this stress lately and we haven’t been talking, and somehow I sort of reconnected with…someone. And it just happened. And then I couldn’t stop.”  
  
He leaves out the part about the dreams, because he doesn’t know how to explain that in a way that doesn’t make him sound crazy. He’s pretty sure even Kame still thinks he’s sort of crazy when it comes to that. Sometimes Jin agrees with him.  
  
“Seriously?”  
  
Jin hates that—that grim note in Pi’s voice. Not joking, not playing along. Just disappointed.  
  
Well, fuck it. Why shouldn’t Pi be disappointed? Let him get in line.  
  
“I know you get bored easily, but that’s a real dick move, Jin.”  
  
“I’m not doing it because I’m bored,” Jin says—though he falters for a moment to check that knee-jerk reaction against reality. No, that’s not it. It’s not bored. He’s not sure what it is, but bored doesn’t cover it. “It’s…there’s something else. I don’t know what it is, I just—it’s so quiet all the time, and we don’t talk.”  
  
But they did talk, the other night. They’ve been talking more, lately.  
  
“It’s not her fault at all,” Jin rushes on. “I’m not saying that. I’m not  _trying_  to fuck this up. But it’s different with him.”  
  
Pi’s bottle pauses halfway to his lips.  
  
“Him?”  
  
Oh crap. That one just sort of slipped out.  
  
Pi sits forward in his chair, and his eyes have a weird sort of piercing look to them, like he’s seeing something Jin doesn’t. Like he’s got more pieces to this puzzle than Jin does, even though Jin knows that can’t be the case.  
  
“Is it who I think it is?”  
  
Jin blinks, heart hammering. But suddenly he’s absolutely certain that it’s exactly who Pi thinks it is, and  _how does Pi know who it is?_  
  
“Probably,” he says carefully. Because he can’t really be sure, even though he is. Because Pi isn’t actually a mind-reader, even though somehow he’s figured it out anyway.  
  
Pi stares at him for a moment longer.  
  
“ _Seriously?_ ” he says again, and this time there’s something even more pointed about it, like this new piece of information makes it twice as bad, and Jin feels certain he’s missing something here.  
  
He nods.  
  
Pi just keeps staring at him, puzzling him out. “God. You still have no idea, do you?”  
  
That one is unexpected. “No idea about what?”  
  
Pi gives a dry laugh and takes a sip of his beer, scratching a hand through his hair. “No kidding your head’s fucked up.”  
  
Jin really feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation here. Which is weird, because he thought he was the one who started it. “What are you talking about? What don’t I have any idea about?”  
  
“What does he say about this?” Pi asks, ignoring Jin’s question.  
  
Jin frowns at him for a moment longer. “Nothing,” he concedes. “We don’t really talk about it. Much.”  
  
“Right,” Pi says. “I guess you wouldn’t.”  
  
Jin is starting to wish he’d stayed home with the cheese puffs. At least they don’t talk to him in cryptic half-thoughts like he’s a child trying to elbow his way into a grownup conversation. About his own life. “Well, it’s not exactly an easy thing to talk about,” Jin justifies. “Most of the time things work better when we just sort of stay in neutral territory.”  
  
“Yeah, for you.”  
  
“For him too,” Jin protests. He remembers Kame’s brief struggle with his conscience the other day, the intermittent flashes of something sad in his expression before Jin manages to distract him, and he thinks that can’t be good for anybody, right? Hurt should be avoided at all times. Complicated stuff hurts, so they stay away from it. That’s not just for his benefit, right? “It’s just easier that way. Not to talk about the hard stuff.”  
  
“And Meisa?”  
  
“She doesn’t know,” Jin says. “So there’s nothing to talk about.”  
  
Pi nods, though his expression says he thinks “there’s nothing to talk about” might be an oversimplification. “Okay, fine. So what exactly are you trying to accomplish? What’s your endgame?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Jin shrugs. He’s folding a chopstick wrapper over and over again in his fingers, and not looking at Pi anymore. “I haven’t really thought it through that far.” More like he’s been trying like hell not to think it through.  
  
“Well you’d better start thinking, quick. This isn’t just about you, you know. When you have a marriage and a kid, stuff like this doesn’t get to be just about you.”  
  
“I know.” And he does. He  _does_  know.  
  
“If things really aren’t working then you man up and make some changes—you don’t just go sneaking around behind people’s backs.”  
  
“But that’s just it,” Jin says, looking up again suddenly as he continues to twist the wrapper in his fingers. “I don’t know what I can do to make it right for everybody. I love Meisa, and Kana’s the most important thing in the world to me. I want stuff to work. I want it to be good like it used to be, and I’m trying—really, I’m trying to be the guy she needs me to be. I know it’s important, I know it’s  _real_ , and I’m trying to make it work. I’m trying to make her happy.”  
  
“But?”  
  
“But…”  
  
 _Sometimes I don’t know what real means anymore_.  
  
“…I can’t stop seeing him.”  
  
Pi just stares at him for a while. Jin’s forgotten how hard it is to meet those stupid soulful eyes of his when Pi’s looking at him like he’s done something wrong. Especially when he’s right.  
  
“You’re a selfish bastard, Akanishi.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin agrees miserably. “I know that.”  
  
“No.” Pi’s grimace is half-pitying, half-reproachful, and Jin doesn’t like it any more than his stupid eyes. It throws him all off balance. “That’s the thing. I really don’t think you do.”  
  
If it were anybody else, Jin would tell them to shut the hell up, because they don’t know what they’re talking about. But Pi knows. Pi knows him better than anybody else in the world. Better than Kame. Better than Meisa. Pi is the one who jokes him out of it when he’s being melodramatic, who tells him to stop thinking too hard, or to start paying attention. He’s being serious, and Pi is never serious. Jin doesn’t know what to do with that.  
  
Pi takes one last sip of his beer as he gets to his feet. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and shuffles through it, leaving a few bills on the table. Then he turns to go.  
  
“Hey,” Jin says, and Pi pauses halfway to the door, glancing back. “What do you think I should do?”  
  
Pi presses his lips together. This time the look is mostly pitying.  
  
“What do you think you should do?” he says.  
  
Jin doesn’t have an answer for that.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Meisa and Kana leave around midafternoon that Saturday. It takes a little longer than anticipated to get everything packed up for the weekend visit to Grandma’s, but then that’s just sort of par for the course. Ever since Kana has gotten attached to the idea of “helping” with the packing, the process has included at least one session of emptying her packed suitcase and sorting through everything a second time to make sure she’s remembered to include such essentials as shirts and underwear, and that all the socks match. And that none of the clothes are intended to be worn by Kana’s dolls.  
  
Jin waves them off at the door, watches as they disappear down the walkway. He told Meisa a couple of weeks ago that he wouldn’t be able to join them, citing work commitments. A lie. He thought about reversing himself a couple of times this week, but he never seemed to quite make a decision. It was easier just to leave things as they were. Anyway, Kame is expecting him.  
  
At least, Jin’s pretty sure he still is.  
  
They haven’t talked since that Thursday when things got awkward. Jin didn’t worry about it too much at first, but ever since his conversation with Pi Jin has started to doubt whether he really has any idea what’s going on with anyone, himself included. The headaches have come back strong the last few days, and it’s made it difficult to concentrate on much of anything, but when he’s had the chance he’s tried to make himself think, even about the stuff he’d really rather not. About the hows and whys and what-nexts that Pi raised. He hasn’t made much progress.  
  
Sometimes he really hates Pi.  
  
He hasn’t spoken to Kame in a week, but every night he’s dreamed of him. It would almost be enough to satisfy whatever this weird obsessive craving is if it weren’t for the mornings, waking up without him. Somehow that always just starts the ache all over again, that hollow feeling of something lost. Irretrievable. And then all he wants is to see him, just to prove to himself that not all of it is in his head.  
  
Now here he is again, knuckles hovering over the door. 403.  
  
It’s only the usual things, he tells himself. All the reasons why he shouldn’t be here. All the reasons why he is. The ones he understands, and the ones he doesn’t. He could leave, but he doesn’t want to. He probably should, but he can’t.  
  
He knocks.  
  
There are footsteps on the other side of the door, and then the bolt sliding back. The door opens, and it’s Kame.  
  
He looks really good. Better than Jin remembers. Better than in the dreams. He’s not even sure what it is. He looks like he’s made an effort, but Kame always looks like he’s made an effort, except when he’s hot and sweaty and exhausted, tangled up in the sheets, and even then he looks perfect. Jin has always envied that about him. Kame, always trying. Even when he’s trying not to look like he tries.  
  
“I wasn’t sure if you were still coming,” Kame says in a quiet voice as Jin slips off his shoes. The table is set for two.  
  
“Neither was I,” Jin says with a little half-smile. When he catches a flicker of anxiety cross Kame’s face before he can hide it, Jin rushes on. “I mean, after last time—I thought, maybe…it would be better if I didn’t.”  
  
He doesn’t specify for whom, and he’s not sure he knows. Maybe everyone. Maybe even him, eventually.  
  
Kame steps up and kisses him. Just a soft hello, even if it lingers a bit. Kame’s fingertips on his cheek are gentle, not like when he drags him into the bedroom in the mornings, anxious to make the most of the few hours they have. It’s chaste and warm, and somehow it gets to him in a way a simple kiss like that usually doesn’t.  
  
“I’m glad you came anyway.”  
  
When Kame steps back and goes into the kitchen to see about dinner, Jin just stands there in the front hall, staring after him. Something hurts, and he doesn’t understand why. Kame’s here. Kame’s right here, and Jin is right here with him, and they have the whole night. A whole night. They’ve never had that before. So why does it still hurt?  
  
“What do you want to drink?” Kame calls out from the kitchen.  
  
Jin shrugs out of his jacket and puts the feeling aside. “Anything’s fine with me,” he calls back. “Whatever you’re having.”  
  
“Well, we’re having alfredo, so white wine okay?”  
  
“Sure. Sounds great.”  
  
Jin wanders over to the bookshelf while Kame pours up a glass for each of them and finishes the last of the preparations in the kitchen. He’s skimmed the same titles numerous times over the past few weeks, but each time they manage to take him by surprise. He always notices the ones that are missing, the albums and the cookbooks and that one shelf full of shounen manga.  
  
There’s a new cookbook here now that he doesn’t remember seeing last time he looked. The title is in Italian. Jin stares at it, fiddling with the stem of his wine glass and making it twirl slowly, back and forth. He puts two fingers on the top of the spine and tilts it out slightly, just far enough to see a picture of some kind of toasted tomato appetizer on the front, and part of a pasta dish.  
  
“Here we are,” Kame says behind him, and Jin lets the cookbook fall back into place and crosses to the dining table. He sets down his wine glass and takes the seat opposite Kame, just as Kame is setting the warmed serving dish in between them.  
  
Pasta. With lots of cheese. Kame doesn’t even like pasta.  
  
Kame lets Jin serve himself first, then dishes out a small serving onto his own plate. They’ve each got a salad as well, and Kame starts with that, and the green beans on the side. Jin digs into the pasta. Kame’s gotten better at the noodles already, they’re cooked to perfection. Then again, maybe linguini is easier to time than lasagna. Jin wouldn’t know. He’s never tried anything more complicated than spaghetti, and even that he usually finds a way to burn. The only person he ever cooks for other than himself is Kana.  
  
Jin wonders what Kame likes. It makes him feel a bit guilty to realize he doesn’t know. That he’s never bothered to notice or ask, in all these years.  
  
“So,” Kame says, with a smile that’s trying to look easy. “How was the recording?”  
  
“Recording?”  
  
“On Thursday.”  
  
Oh. Right. The album.  
  
On Thursday.  
  
“Fine,” Jin says, shoveling a twirled strand of linguini into his mouth. He racks his brains for something else interesting he can say about Thursday, but all he can remember is having to redo the same track twelve times because he kept getting distracted wondering if he was coming here or not and missing his cue. “I think we’re almost half done.”  
  
“That’s good. Are you putting out a single?”  
  
Jin nods. “Later this month. It’s in post right now.”  
  
Kame nods as well. He spears a piece of chicken along with a strand of linguini, twirls his fork around a few times before putting it in his mouth. Chews thoughtfully. Jin reaches for his salad and tries a bite. The dressing is an odd sort of raspberry flavor, but it’s surprisingly good. He doesn’t usually like fruit on his salads.  
  
The lull starts to grow stale, and Jin thinks it’s his turn, so he opens his mouth to ask about Kame’s next single. Then he remembers why he hasn’t asked that question before.  
  
He sticks another forkful of mixed greens into his mouth instead.  
  
When Kame clears his throat quietly and shifts in his chair, taking another picky bite of the linguini, Jin decides he’s had enough. Best to just face this head on and get it out of the way, or they’ll never be able to enjoy the weekend. He puts his salad fork back down next to his plate.  
  
“Look, maybe we should—”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kame interrupts, before Jin can even get the words out. “About last time.”  
  
Jin was…not expecting that.  
  
“I get it, okay?” Kame continues. He’s still poking at a piece of chicken with the end of his fork, as if he hasn’t quite gotten the concept that he has to push hard enough to pierce it if he wants to actually pick it up. “This is what it is, and whatever’s going on with you and—with your life is none of my business. I was angry at myself, and I took it out on you, and I shouldn’t have. You’re right—you can make your own decisions. I’m not your keeper.”  
  
Kame’s only repeating his own words back to him, but somehow Jin likes the sound of them a lot less coming out of Kame’s mouth than his own. They sound like a dismissal, and that’s not the way he meant them. That’s not what he wants.  
  
“It wasn’t just your fault,” Jin says. He’s tempted to pick up his own fork and start poking at his green beans, just so he doesn’t have to look Kame in the eye—but the two of them sitting there sheepishly mutilating their food won’t solve anything.  
  
“Look,” he says. “It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing here—I know I’m putting you in a…an awkward position. I’m sorry for that. And if you ever want this to stop, just, you know…kick me out. Or whatever. I don’t want to cause you any trouble. I know it doesn’t seem like that sometimes, but I really don’t. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave. We can pretend this never happened, and I won’t bother you again. I won’t be angry, I promise.”  
  
Jin looks down at the dish of fettuccini between them, bracing himself. Kame didn’t take the out last time, but he’s had days to think about it since then, and there’s only so many times Jin can offer before he’ll eventually accept. Before this becomes more trouble than it’s worth.  
  
But the words don’t come. When Jin looks up, Kame has that resigned look in his eyes again, and Jin almost asks. Because he has a feeling that if he could just get his mind around what that look is telling him, maybe some of this would start to make sense.  
  
Jin jumps when something kicks him in the shin. It takes him a second to catch Kame’s little smirk.  
  
“What was that for?” Jin asks.  
  
Kame takes a sip of his wine and sets it down on the table again, resting his chin on a fist. “That’s as close as I’ll ever get to kicking you out, Bakanishi.”  
  
Jin winces and reaches down to rub his bruised shin. “Yeah, well it fucking hurts…”  
  
Kame’s smirk turns into a grin, and something in Jin’s chest eases in response.  
  
“You’re such a baby.”  
  
“You’re the baby,” Jin snaps back, too quickly to modulate the whine in his voice. But it’s worth the damage to his pride when Kame laughs and picks up his fork again. He stabs the piece of chicken he’s been pushing around his plate for the last ten minutes and puts it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing. Then he takes another sip from his wine glass.  
  
“So,” Kame says leaning in conspiratorially, “did you hear about MatsuJun and the three stewardesses?”  
  
Jin feels his eyebrows raise. “Is that some kind of new take on Goldilocks?”  
  
Kame laughs again. It feels good.  
  
*      *      *  
  
“You still have your socks on,” Kame points out as Jin reaches for his fly.  
  
“Yeah, but my feet get cold.”  
  
Kame shuffles the cards against the coffee table, then does that magic bridge thing where it’s like the cards are rewinding themselves back up into his hands. He can do it without even looking, the bastard. “You don’t think they’ll get cold anyway while you’re sitting around in your underwear?”  
  
“Not as cold as they’d get if I were sitting around without my socks.”  
  
“One sock,” Kame says. “You have two you know.”  
  
“Oh, so I’d only get frostbite on one of my feet. Well, that’s a comfort.”  
  
“You won’t get frostbite,” Kame says, shuffling the deck again. “It’s seventy-two degrees in here.”  
  
“You sound like you don’t even want me to take my pants off,” Jin pouts.  
  
Kame throws him a smirk. “I never said that. I’m just arguing on behalf of logic.”  
  
“You and your logic,” Jin says as he shimmies his pants down over his hips, leaning back against the edge of the couch to get them out from under him. He tosses them off to the side to join their shirts on the floor beside the coffee table. Now that they’re actually off, Jin has to admit that it is a little nippy. But at least he still has his underwear on, so that helps. And the rug is relatively soft, if not exactly heat-generating. Better than sitting directly on the wood floor, at least.  
  
“So what’s this hand?” Jin asks, tossing one of his white chips into the middle of the table for an ante.  
  
“Night baseball,” Kame says, setting the deck in front of Jin for him to cut.  
  
Of course. What else?  
  
Jin picks off the top half of the deck and sets it aside, and Kame puts the bottom half on top and picks up the deck again, fingering the edges to straighten them out.  
  
“Threes and nines are wild, fours get you an extra card,” Kame recites as he deals them each a stack of seven cards face-down. “We flip one at a time, and there’s a betting round each time there’s a new better hand. Best hand wins once all the cards are showing.”  
  
Kame tosses his own ante into the pot. “You first.”  
  
Jin flips a six of diamonds and bets ten, just for the hell of it. Kame calls. He flips a six of hearts. It takes Kame a five of clubs and a two of diamonds before he beats Jin’s six with the queen of clubs. Jin raises an eyebrow as Kame tosses a five-point chip into the pot.  
  
“Getting nervous?”  
  
“Cautiously optimistic,” Kame corrects.  
  
Jin briefly considers raising him to ten, but he decides to be kind. A moment later he regrets it—he tops Kame on the next card with the king of clubs.  
  
“You’re going to run out of chips before you run out of clothes,” Kame says when Jin throws twenty into the pot.  
  
“I don’t need any lectures on overspending from you, Zsa Zsa.”  
  
“At least I do most of my shopping with my pants on,” Kame says, matching Jin’s twenty with his own.  
  
“And whose fault is it I’m not wearing any pants?”  
  
“Yours,” Kame says. “I told you to start with the socks, remember?”  
  
Kame flips a nine of diamonds. “Pair of queens,” he says, tossing a ten-point chip into the pot.  
  
“Wait, what?”  
  
“Nines are wild. Pay attention.”  
  
“Oh,” Jin mumbles, calling Kame’s ten. Jin flips a ten of spades, followed by the nine of hearts. “Ha! Pair of kings. Beat that, smartypants.”  
  
“You’re pretty smug for someone wearing no pants at all.”  
  
“I’ve still got my boxers.”  
  
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to tell you—boxers with socks, not your best look.”  
  
Jin grabs a card off the top of the discarded deck and flicks it at Kame’s face. Kame giggles as he bats it away.  
  
“Just for that I’m going thirty,” Jin says, dropping a few more chips in the pot.  
  
“You are  _so easy_ ,” Kame smirks, trickling three chips in as well.  
  
Kame winces as he flips a ten of hearts. He’s flirting with a straight, but the gaps are too wide even with the wild nine, and he’s only got one card left. If he can’t make king or better, the pot is Jin’s.  
  
Jack of diamonds.  
  
“Fuck,” Kame grumbles as Jin cackles away, scooping up the pot.  
  
“Pants, please,” Jin says with a grin. Because of course, for all his preaching, Kame has made the rookie mistake of not bothering to wear socks in the first place.  
  
Kame pushes himself to his feet and unbuttons his fly. Jin starts humming striptease music just to make him blush. He just about knocks over the chips he’s neatly stacking when Kame throws his arms over his head and plays along with a hip thrust instead.  
  
…And he probably should have seen that coming. He forgot who he was playing with.  
  
By the time Kame has shimmied his jeans all the way down and kicked them off to the side, Jin is giggling and shifting a bit on the carpet, boxer briefs a little tighter than they were a minute ago. When Kame kneels across from him again, Jin can tell from the gleam in his eye that the make-him-blush plan has backfired.  
  
Kame picks up the deck of cards and starts shuffling lazily. It’s Jin’s deal, but Jin can’t shuffle like Kame can, and he’s still busy tidying up his winnings. Which he sort of forgot about during Kame’s performance.  
  
“What do you say we make things interesting?” Kame says, tapping the edge of the deck on the table and cutting it again, this time with one hand. (How does he  _do_  that…?)  
  
“Interesting how, exactly?”  
  
“Next hand we play for a blowjob.”  
  
Jin’s mouth goes dry.  
  
Kame has interesting ideas.  
  
“Okay,” he says. “What’s the game?”  
  
“It’s your deal,” Kame reminds him, punctuating his shrug with another lazy shuffle. “Dealer’s choice.”  
  
“Okay,” Jin says, and his eyes linger on Kame’s hands for a moment before drifting up to his mouth. Which twitches with a smirk. “How about high card?”  
  
Kame grins. “Impatient?”  
  
“Shut up and cut the deck already.”  
  
Kame slaps the deck down in the center of the table and sheers off the top portion, keeping it face down. Jin does the same.  
  
“On three,” Jin says. “One…two…three.”  
  
Six of clubs.  
  
Eight of diamonds.  
  
 _Perfect_.  
  
The cards scatter over the table as he leans across and grabs Kame by the head, kissing him enthusiastically. Kame’s fingers are in his hair immediately, one arm winding around Jin’s shoulders as he shoves his tongue in Jin’s mouth, then nibbles gently at Jin’s lower lip.  
  
“Get over here,” Kame breathes, one hand trailing down Jin’s back toward his waistband. “Claim your winnings.”  
  
Jin climbs over the coffee table and just about lands face-first in Kame’s lap when the poker chips slide and scatter under his knees. Kame just laughs and helps him right himself, pulling him close once he’s safely back on the carpet. Kame’s hips are flush against his, and Jin can tell he’s not the only one enjoying this game. Which is good. Very good.  
  
When Kame’s fingers slide underneath the waist of his boxers to push them out of the way, Jin catches him by the elbows and shakes his head, kissing him once more to smooth out the confused twitch of his eyebrows.  
  
“We played for a blowjob. You never said who gets it.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“It’s mine,” Jin says. “I won it. I want to give it to you.”  
  
His voice only trembles a little bit. He’s never actually done this before—not with a guy. Not with Kame. All the other stuff they’ve done, either Kame’s been the one in charge or it’s been sort of…second nature. Same hand, different dick. But this is different. This is totally different. He really hopes he doesn’t suck at it.  
  
Well. Actually, sucking might help.  
  
Kame is still frowning at him like he’s not quite sure what’s happening, but his fingers are in Jin’s hair again, and he doesn’t seem like he wants to pull away. Jin takes that as a good sign.  
  
“Are you sure?”  
  
Jin kisses him again, tasting every bit of him. He thinks of warm water and soft skin, Kame’s dick in his hand and Kame against him, incoherent with pleasure. Trusting him. Needing him. Taking for once without giving back, and he wants that again. He wants that for real.  
  
He palms Kame through his boxers, and Kame draws in a sharp breath, but he doesn’t ask again.  
  
When Jin presses forward, Kame just goes, lets Jin spread him out on his back on the soft rug. Jin covers him, trailing kisses down his throat until he reaches one of Kame’s dark nipples, and Kame arches up against him, fingers twisting in the hair at the back of Jin’s neck. Jin strokes a hand over Kame’s ribs and down his side, and Kame twitches into his touch when Jin’s fingertips sneak under the waistband, brushing over even softer skin.  
  
Kame breathes his name, and it curls in Jin’s chest, tugs at him somewhere deep down where it’s warm.  
  
As his mouth finds its way down over the hollow of Kame’s stomach, which dips inward with each breath, the fingers of Jin’s other hand hook into Kame’s waistband. Kame lifts his hips obediently, just far enough for Jin to slide the fabric down. Jin sits back as he glides the boxers up over Kame’s knees, and then away, tossing them back toward the forgotten pile in the corner.  
  
Kame looks incredible like this, stretched out on his back with his knees crooked on either side of Jin’s, his skin flushed and glowing everywhere Jin has touched him, and they’ve barely even started. Jin slides a palm down the inside of Kame’s thigh, feeling the muscles twitch under the skin as he spreads a little wider, watching Kame’s dark eyes watching him back. If what Kame sees when they do things the other way around is anything like this, it’s no wonder Kame doesn’t mind doing all the work.  
  
Kame bites his lip when Jin’s hand closes around him, tugging just a little bit. He gives a little cut-off moan, fingers grasping helplessly at the carpet when Jin does it again, a little longer this time, to the end and back, and Jin can feel him stiffen a little more underneath the soft skin. When he bends down and gives the head an experimental lick, Kame jerks, as if his hips tried to follow without Kame’s permission.  
  
When Jin’s mouth closes around him, Kame sucks in a harsh breath, eyes fluttering shut.  
  
It’s hot and hard inside his mouth, and Jin tries to move, tries to take in as much as he can before pulling back. He presses up against it with his tongue and tries to keep his teeth out of the way, tries to remember how Kame does it when it’s him, what he would want if Kame were sucking him right now, and he keeps it tight, keeps moving up and down. Kame’s hips twitch upwards again when he swirls his tongue once around the head, and Jin steadies him with a hand on his hip. But he does it again, and again, until he can hear Kame’s breath quickening, feel his hips straining up against Jin’s palm. One of Kame’s hands finds its way into Jin’s hair as if trying to guide him for a moment before he snatches it away again. Jin reaches out and puts it back. It’s okay. He wants to make it good. He feels Kame’s fingers curling in his hair, changing the angle just slightly, and then Kame’s moaning again, hips dipping needily to meet each one of Jin’s strokes.  
  
Jin slides the hand on Kame’s hip up to flatten over his stomach, and Kame immediately snatches it up, pulling it towards him and pressing a hot, soft kiss to the center of Jin’s palm. He can feel Kame whispering his name over and over between kisses, shallower as he picks up the pace, his tongue raw from the continued pressure, but Kame’s so hard now, wound so tight, it can’t be long now. There’s a strangled groan and a jerk out of rhythm, Kame’s fingers clench in his hair and he just catches a breath before it’s hot and full and burning down his throat. He can still feel Kame’s breath trembling against his palm as he rides it out, swallows it all down, tries not to choke or breathe the wrong way.  
  
That…is going to take some getting used to.  
  
But when Kame drags him up the length of his body and kisses him hungrily, winds his legs around Jin’s hips like he never plans to let him go, Jin thinks it will definitely be worth it.  
  
After several breathless moments, Kame finally lets Jin draw back a few inches, though he’s still running fingers through Jin’s hair, beaming up at him like a crazy person.  
  
“Do you want something to drink?” Kame says, with a knowing glint in his eye.  
  
Jin grimaces. “Kind of…?”  
  
Kame giggles and kisses him once more on the lips, then on the cheek. Then he unwinds his legs from around Jin’s waist and gives him a nudge. “Scooch. I’ll get you a beer.”  
  
Jin almost tells him it’s fine, he can get it himself, but when he rolls over onto the rug he suddenly feels every muscle in his back, neck, and shoulders telling him to stay right where he is. The good news is he won’t need to do pushups at the gym anytime soon. Kame has already rolled to his feet and tottered off toward the kitchen.  
  
“Here.”  
  
Jin opens his eyes, and there’s a beer bottle hovering over him. He pushes himself up to sit and takes it, takes a long, deep drink and swishes it around a little bit discreetly while he watches Kame cross the room and poke through the pile of clothes for his underwear. He’s left his own beer on the coffee table.  
  
When Kame turns around and picks his beer up again, he takes one look at Jin and starts laughing.  
  
“What?” Jin frowns as Kame sits down beside him, muffling his giggles into the neck of the bottle.  
  
“Nothing,” Kame says, still grinning.  
  
“ _What?_ ”  
  
Kame slants him a look, then nods his head toward Jin’s feet. “You’ve still got your socks on.”  
  
Jin glares at Kame as he snickers into his beer again. “You didn’t seem to mind a minute ago.”  
  
“A minute ago you were sucking my dick,” Kame says. “You can wear Uggs and a parka for all I care when you’re doing that.”  
  
Jin elbows him in the ribs and Kame makes a dive for Jin’s socks. They nearly spill both beers in the ensuing wrestling match, which ends up with Jin on top and both of them half under the coffee table. Kame has one of Jin’s socks in his hand, clutched above his head.  
  
“I give you a prizewinning blowjob, and this is the thanks I get?”  
  
Kame laughs, and Jin feels it in happy little jolts all along his body. “The blowjob was the prize, not the prizewinner.”  
  
“Same thing.”  
  
“Not even close.”  
  
Jin kisses him to shut him up. Kame giggles, but the main objective of the plan is achieved.  
  
“Can I have another drink?” Jin asks when he pulls back.  
  
“You can have anything you want.”  
  
“Can I have my sock back?”  
  
Kame grins. “Except that.”  
  
“Jerk,” Jin grumbles, but he’s smiling too, and they roll over laughing on the floor again until Jin smacks his head on the coffee table and they both end up on their backs.  
  
They finish off their beers and take the bottles into the kitchen. Jin grabs another beer from the fridge, but Kame opts for water. He still seems a little unsteady on his feet, weaving slightly as he wanders around the kitchen, and it makes Jin feel a bit smug.  
  
They bring their drinks with them into the bedroom and crawl under the covers, lying side by side, propped up just slightly by the pillows and staring at the ceiling. It’s weird to think he can stay here all night. He doesn’t even have to shower until morning if he doesn’t want to.  
  
“You know what this reminds me of?” Kame says, taking a swallow of water and then setting the bottle on his nightstand.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That camping trip we took when we were like fifteen. Well, I was fifteen. You would have been seventeen, I guess.”  
  
Jin frowns up at the ceiling. He recalls a freezing cold night crammed into a tent with Kame and two other guys, some kid with really bad breath whose name he can’t remember sleeping right next to him, and nightmares about ghosts of dead campers who feasted on the flesh of any pretty young boys foolish enough to venture into their midst. Kame was on Jin’s other side, but he was curled up in his own sleeping bag facing away from Jin all night. Unlike the mouth-breather, who practically had his head tucked against Jin’s shoulder.  
  
“How is this remotely like that?”  
  
Kame slides his hand into Jin’s on top of the covers, laces their fingers together and grins over at him like he’s not surprised Jin doesn’t get it. Jin seems to be getting that look a lot these days.  
  
“I guess it’s not so much how it’s like that as how it’s unlike that.”  
  
Jin blinks. Then shakes his head. “Don’t follow.”  
  
Kame just laughs a little, leans over and kisses him on the shoulder. “No. You wouldn’t. Bakanishi.”  
  
“Will you quit being a jerk and just tell me what you’re talking about?” Jin grumbles. “Cause all I remember is spending the whole night shivering in my sleeping bag.”  
  
“Well I wish I’d known that,” Kame says. “Because I spent that whole night trying desperately not to crawl in with you and warm you up.”  
  
Jin stares at him. Kame’s still smiling, but there’s something quieter there now. Not quite serious, but not really a joke either.  
  
“Really?”  
  
Kame nods.  
  
“You mean…that long ago?”  
  
Kame’s smile spreads wistfully. He shakes his head and turns back to the ceiling, squeezes Jin’s hand a little bit. “Bakanishi.”  
  
Jin keeps watching him. The way his chest moves gently up and down under the covers, blue-edged in the dim light. That calm expression on his face, contented but not quite open, and suddenly Jin feels like there’s a lot he’s missed. Not just in these last few years when they haven’t seen each other, but before that when they saw each other all the time for work, and before that when they saw each other nearly every day just because they wanted to. Kame wanted him when they were teenagers, and Jin had no idea. He wonders what else he’s missed.  
  
“Kame?”  
  
Kame hums to show he’s listening. He bends his elbow, lifting their joined hands above the mattress between them and wiggling his fingers idly between Jin’s. His gaze stays on the ceiling.  
  
“Do you remember the day we had that fight?”  
  
Kame glances over at him, arching an eyebrow. “You’ll have to be more specific.”  
  
“You know.  _That_  fight. When I left.”  
  
Kame’s hand goes still. After a moment, he nods slowly, turning back to the ceiling. “I remember.”  
  
Jin purses his lips, eyes trained on Kame’s profile.  
  
“What would you have said if I had come back?”  
  
Kame blinks, turns his head again to give Jin a quizzical frown. He tries to match it with a dubious half-smile, but his lips don’t quite cooperate. “You mean after I called you a selfish bastard, told you to fuck off to America, and said if you left I never wanted to see your stupid face again? After that?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin says. “After that.”  
  
Kame sighs and turns away again. He gives a weak shrug of his shoulders. “Who knows?” he says, and his fingers start fidgeting between Jin’s again. “It was ages ago. And you didn’t.”  
  
Jin turns back to the ceiling as well, studying the mass of tiny bumps as if maybe they’ve got everything figured out. Maybe they’ll tell him the answers if he can just look at them from the right angle. See them through the right eyes.  
  
“In the dream, I did,” he murmurs.  
  
Kame’s hand stills again, but Jin’s eyes stay on the ceiling.  
  
“That’s what you told me. The other you—him. In the dream. That after we fought, I changed my mind and came back, and that was when we…that was when it started.”  
  
He can feel Kame’s eyes on him, just watching.  
  
“But that’s just a dream,” Kame says. “It doesn’t mean that’s how it would’ve happened.” His voice is a little gruff.  
  
“I almost did though,” Jin says. And now he does look at Kame. “Come back. I didn’t want to leave things like that.”  
  
Things were so confusing back then. Everything he wanted, and no one would listen, no one could hear him. He just wanted somebody to  _hear_  him, and nothing was right anymore. Nothing fit. He felt trapped, and there was only one way out, and he was determined to take it before it slipped away. Even if it meant giving up other things that mattered to him. Had mattered, once. And maybe always.  
  
“But you did.”  
  
“Yeah,” he concedes. “I did.”  
  
“Things happen the way they happen. You don’t get do-overs.”  
  
“That’s the thing, though,” Jin says. His hand tightens on Kame’s, and he knows it’s crazy, but it’s been in the back of his mind since the dreams first started. Since he found Kame again. “What if I do? What if it  _is_  real? Or it could be, at least? That’s what it feels like, Kame—like another life. Like something that could have been. Or maybe even something that is, and maybe this life isn’t real, maybe this is the dream. It feels like I’m living two different versions of my life at the same time, and sometimes I can’t tell anymore what’s real and what’s not. I’m not…I’m not even sure which one I want to be real.”  
  
“I don’t think you get to choose,” Kame says, slightly bitterly. “Either things are true or they’re not. Either they happen or they don’t. And whatever happens, or doesn’t, you just have to learn to live with that and move forward from there. That’s life, Jin.”  
  
“Okay, fine,” Jin says. And he  _knows_  Kame is right. Kame is always right. Still, that doesn’t change what he feels, and he can’t ignore that either. “But that doesn’t do me any good if I can’t even tell what’s real in the first place.”  
  
Kame sighs. He ponders this pseudo-philosophical dilemma for a moment or two, staring up at their joined hands, and Jin can practically hear his thoughts flitting by. Kame and his logic. He sneaks a glance over at the thoughtful crease of his brow, the way his auburn hair sticks up strangely on one side, mussed by the pillowcase, and he can almost see him sampling and discarding his rational arguments one by one.  
  
“What feels real?” Kame says at last.  
  
The question brings Jin up short. Everything slows, stretches, seeps under his skin until it’s all here at once, and there’s nothing beyond the edges of this bed. His gaze joins Kame’s on their hands.  
  
 _This_.  
  
 _You and me. This feels real. No matter where I am, this always feels real._  
  
“I don’t know,” he says.  
  
He feels Kame looking at him, but this time he can’t meet his eyes.  
  
After a long moment, Kame’s hand slides out of his. He feels the mattress shifting underneath him as Kame rolls toward him, a gentle warmth against Jin’s side. When he finally manages to look at him, Kame’s eyes are lowered, his head ducking to press a warm, soft kiss against Jin’s shoulder. Right where he pecked at it a moment ago, only this time he doesn’t let go. His palm flattens out against Jin’s chest, and Jin feels his pulse quicken a little as Kame’s mouth grows even softer against his skin.  
  
Jin lets out a slightly unsteady breath when Kame’s leg slides over his, settling between his knees. His hips follow, just a little, and his torso, that familiar weight against him as Kame’s mouth finds its way up the side of Jin’s throat in slow, searching steps, like he’s memorizing each exact spot as he goes. Jin swallows when Kame kisses him just below his earlobe, his breath fluttering the hairs at the back of Jin’s neck.  
  
Kame’s fingers trail slowly in the other direction, brushing over each one of Jin’s ribs as if he were planning to draw them blindfolded. When his fingertips settle just beneath the waistband of Jin’s boxers, Jin glides his own hand over Kame’s spine, settling it in the small of his back, and even there he’s warm. Kame’s so warm.  
  
Jin turns into Kame’s kisses as they feather over his cheek, the lightest one just at the corner of Jin’s mouth. Jin looks up at him, and Kame is looking back at him, his face half in shadow but Jin would know him anywhere. Jin would know him with his eyes closed.  
  
“I’m real,” Kame says. His voice is barely more than a whisper, and Jin feels it against his lips, and then Kame against his lips. Dark and warm and Kame. Kame’s hand finds him underneath the covers, his tongue sweet and strong and slow in Jin’s mouth, and Jin doesn’t know where all the breath in his body has gone but for some reason he doesn’t seem to need it right now.  
  
“I promise I’m real,” Kame breathes again, a little shaky as Jin’s hand finds its way into his hair, and…he is. He’s the only thing that’s real.  
  
Pretty soon Jin can barely remember where he is. He can’t remember anything, not what happened before this, not how he got here, not his parents’ names. There’s nothing but Kame, his skin soft and strong, those hands against him, and that voice, that breath in his mouth. Everything is Kame, and Jin just holds on and follows his lead. Because he knows the moment he lets go everything will disappear into the quiet and nothing will be real anymore.  
  
He’ll disappear without Kame.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Afterwards, they lie together in the dark, Kame’s chest pressed against Jin’s back. Kame’s arms are warm and strong around his waist, and Jin keeps a hand over one of them, stroking lightly over Kame’s fingers. The apartment is quiet, but the air is full of them, and Jin can breathe.  
  
“Stay,” Kame whispers.  
  
“What?”  
  
Kame takes a deep breath and holds him a little closer, and Jin feels the cool air against his shoulder blade. “If you had come back that day, that’s what I would have said. I would have asked you to stay.”  
  
Jin swallows. The air slides like liquid down his throat, but he just holds still, hanging on every word.  
  
“I’d promise to cook you lasagna, and I’d take care of the dirty dishes you leave in the sink, and I’d shampoo your hair. I’d take care of you when you were sick even if you couldn’t remember me, and I’d stop bitching about you being late all the time and losing my stuff and leaving your clothes all over the dressing room. I’d let you wear socks without pants even though it makes you look ridiculous, and I’d keep you warm at night even when it’s fucking eighty degrees and no normal person could possibly be cold. I’d do anything you wanted if you would just stay with me.”  
  
Jin feels Kame press his face against his spine, let out a long, slow breath. It’s warm, full of relief and regret, but it makes Jin shiver inside.  
  
All those years. He’s missed so much.  
  
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” Jin whispers.  
  
He can feel the cool smile at his back. It’s strange how much better he can read Kame now when he can’t even see him. The truth is in his arms, in his breath, in his tender lips against Jin’s skin. And it was always there—Jin was an idiot for not seeing it sooner. “Because you never looked at me the way I looked at you,” Kame murmurs. “I didn’t think we could ever be like this. Now I wish I had said something. Maybe things would have been different.”  
  
Jin doesn’t know what to say. He’s not sure he could manage anything even if he knew what it should be. He can’t get anything out past the tightness in his throat.  
  
“I wish I could dream like you,” Kame says, resting his cheek against Jin’s shoulder and holding him a little tighter around the middle. His thigh is lying against Jin’s, and his calf slides over as well, his foot warming Jin’s through his sole remaining sock. “I can’t believe in things the way you can. When I dream, I always know it’s not real.” His hands stroke lazily over Jin’s chest, and Jin hides his face against the pillow.  
  
“I want to keep dreaming for a little while though, even if I know it’s not real,” Kame murmurs, so low that Jin’s not even sure he’s intended to hear it. “Just a little longer. Let me stay asleep.”  
  
Jin holds onto Kame’s hand where it rests against his stomach and remembers the 3 a.m. lasagna. The little candle flickering up at him, threatening to drip wax into the cheese and waiting to be blown out. He can think of a wish now.


	11. Chapter 11

Jin falls asleep with Kame’s arms around him. He wakes up with his arms around Kame.  
  
It’s early yet—he can see Kame’s clock radio from here, and it’s not even seven. Even Kame’s alarm hasn’t gone off yet, though it probably will before too long. Jin’s is set for 1 p.m., purely as a last resort. That’s the latest he can enter the shower and still be dry before their guests arrive.  
  
The dream has left him feeling clingy and melancholy, and he pulls Kame a little tighter against him, reassured by his steady breathing. It’s weird, because it’s not like anyone died or anything. He was fine. Kame was fine. It was sad and bittersweet, but he’s had worse nightmares. That one about the cannibalistic ghost campers was much worse.  
  
Still, he doesn’t like the feel of it, and it makes him feel much better to know that Kame is here, and he’s here, and neither of them is going anywhere anytime soon.  
  
Until Kame’s alarm goes off, of course. At which point he twitches awake and kicks Jin in the shins as he swims through the bedding toward the nightstand.  
  
“Morning,” Jin grumbles, rubbing his abused shin underneath the covers.  
  
Kame is half sitting up, blinking blurrily against the morning dim. His dark hair is arranged in a rather spectacular fauxhawk from his blind stumble to hit the alarm button. Jin grins and decides not to tell him. Kame yawns and stretches his arms over his head, one wrist brushing against the ends of a few dark strands. When he drops them into his lap again, he glances over at Jin. Still a little squinty, but gradually looking more awake.  
  
“What?” Kame asks suspiciously, and Jin realizes he’s forgotten to hide his grin. He just flicks his eyes up toward Kame’s forehead.  
  
Kame just about goes cross-eyed trying to see for himself. Then he finally gets it and swipes his fingers clumsily over the top of his head, turning the fauxhawk into more of a flattened bird’s nest.  
  
“Better?”  
  
Jin grins. “Depends on what you consider improvement…”  
  
Kame grins back, reaching over and messing up Jin’s hair in retaliation. Jin squirms and tries to shoo him off, but Kame just grabs him by the face and places a big wet kiss on Jin’s forehead before releasing him. Jin feels the mattress bounce underneath him a bit as Kame scoots over to the side and rolls to his feet.  
  
“Aw, come on,” Jin says. “You’re seriously getting up already?”  
  
“I have to start breakfast.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” Jin says.  
  
Kame throws a shirt at him from the dresser. “Good. Then I won’t make any for you.”  
  
“Kame,” Jin whines. “Come on, just a little longer.”  
  
“You can keep sleeping if you want.”  
  
“But I want you to sleep with me.”  
  
Kame’s hands falter on the dresser drawer, and Jin hears it. Winces. Kame gives a slightly unsteady laugh. “Tough luck,” he says. “Doctor’s orders, remember?”  
  
Yeah. Doctor’s orders. Although strictly speaking, that particular doctor’s order expired a week ago. Neither of them has acknowledged it yet.  
  
Kame gathers up his clothes and slips into the bathroom. A few moments later, Jin hears the shower running.  
  
Jin sighs and rolls to his back, running his fingers lightly over the scars on his stomach. He still feels the occasional pull, but it’s more icky than painful. Just his flesh continuing to heal itself, adjusting to the shape of his body. Other than that, and perhaps a lingering feeling of protectiveness toward his midsection, he’s basically back to normal. Physically.  
  
They haven’t done anything since that day in the shower. Not that they’ve exactly kept their distance. It’s been easier all around since then in a lot of ways. Kame doesn’t think twice about touching him casually or kissing him on the cheek. They’ve even kissed on the lips a few times, though it’s always light and sweet, and Kame never lets it go further than that. But they’ve gradually grown cozier in sleep than they are half the time while they’re awake, and Jin thinks that has to count for something.  
  
Jin would happily have done it for him again—indeed, a few times in recent weeks the dreams have left him so hot and bothered he wanted to push Kame up against a wall and say to hell with the stupid doctor’s orders. He’s also pretty sure Kame enjoyed himself thoroughly that one time, so he doesn’t think there’s any reason why he would object. But Kame hasn’t asked, hasn’t left any openings, and Jin doesn’t want to force it on him if that’s not what he wants. Who knows, maybe that was a one-time thing for them, doing it that way. He doesn’t know how things are between them in that area, normally. How they have been. How they would be if they tried it again, now that the embargo has expired. And he hasn’t quite gotten up the courage to ask outright.  
  
Jin pushes the covers aside and rolls to his feet, wandering across the room to the dresser. He hunts down a pair of jeans to go with the shirt Kame threw at him, tosses them onto the foot of the bed along with a pair of socks and some underwear. When he closes the lower drawer, he’s about to turn away until something catches his eye inside the top drawer, which sits slightly ajar. He pulls it open a little further and slides out a lightly crumpled manila envelope.  
  
It’s mostly empty now. The cell phone is on his nightstand, the mic cord has been returned to the equipment managers, the watch and miscellaneous jewelry have all been put away. When Jin tips the envelope over, only one item falls out into his palm.  
  
He sets down the envelope and picks up the delicate gold ring in his fingers. Funny how heavy it feels, such a tiny thing.  
  
Kame still wears his. As far as Jin knows he hasn’t taken it off once, not even when they were in the shower together. But Kame hasn’t mentioned Jin’s ring since the day they came back from the hospital. They’ve talked a lot about the past over the last several weeks, but very little about the future. They’ve both sort of been living in a bubble of wait-and-see. Waiting for Jin to heal. Waiting for life to get back to normal. Waiting for Jin to remember what normal is.  
  
Jin turns the ring over in his fingers. He wonders if it still fits.  
  
He glances over at the bathroom door when he hears the shower turn off, hears the glass door rattling in its track. In a few moments he’ll be able to hear the hairdryer too, and Kame will step out all clean and fluffy and kiss him on the cheek, patting him in the small of the back and saying, “your turn.” Just like an old married couple.  
  
Jin takes one last look at the ring. Then he drops it back into the envelope and tucks it out of sight.  
  
*      *      *  
  
“Merry Christmas,” Koki says with a broad grin, thrusting a bottle of eighteen-year-old Laphroaig with a bow around the neck into Jin’s hands.  
  
“Thanks,” Jin says, accepting the gift as Koki slips out of his shoes and wanders into the living room. “I appreciate the thought, but unless Kame and the doctors have really rotten taste in practical jokes, I’m pretty sure Christmas is still about a month away.”  
  
“Yeah, well, a little bird told me you had to go a month solid without alcohol, so I figured Christmas ought to come a few weeks early this year.”  
  
“Ah,” Jin says, checking out the label. He doesn’t know anything about scotch, except that it makes him drunk in sufficient quantity, and therefore he likes it. This stuff looks like it ought to do the trick. “Well in that case, I accept. Want some of my Christmas present?”  
  
“I thought you’d never ask,” Koki smirks, and Jin is already on his way to the kitchen for a couple of glasses.  
  
“Anybody else?” he calls out.  
  
“Not me,” says Ueda, lifting a stemless glass of merlot. “I’m covered, thanks.”  
  
“I’ll try a bit,” Nakamaru says, bouncing slightly as Koki flops down next to him on the couch.  
  
“I’m good,” Junno says, wrinkling his nose over his customary grin.  
  
Jin turns to Kame, who’s hovering over the stove. “Kame?”  
  
“Hm? Oh—yeah, sure, pour me one. On the rocks.”  
  
As Jin passes around the drinks, Ueda goes to see if he can help Kame in the kitchen. Kame assigns him to finish setting the table. Junno started it, but he was banished when he tried to juggle with Kame’s good plates. Jin sort of wanted to see him take a whack at it, but in the interest of avoiding a live encore performance of the livid-Kame photo on his cellphone he suggested the coasters from the coffee table as an alternative.  
  
“So, you seriously can’t remember anything?” Junno asks him, and Jin gives a small start. Not that he minds all that much talking about it—it’s not like they’re keeping it a secret or anything—but he’s glad Kame’s still in the kitchen.  
  
“I remember most things, going back,” he says, sipping at his scotch and scuffing one socked foot against the edge of the rug. “But more recently, yeah—pretty much just a blank.”  
  
“How recently?”  
  
“About seven years, I think. It’s hard to tell, exactly.”  
  
“When do they think it’ll come back?” Koki asks.  
  
Jin gives a noncommittal shrug and takes another sip of scotch, glancing away. “It’s hard to say. Sometimes it happens right away, sometimes it takes years. Just kind of have to wait and see.”  
  
Koki nods thoughtfully, seeming to accept that answer. Jin catches Nakamaru’s eye and sees a wan smile tugging at his lips. But he doesn’t comment.  
  
“Other than that though,” Nakamaru says instead, “you’re feeling alright?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin replies, relieved to be able to give a real smile, bobbing his head a bit. “I’m the same old me otherwise.”  
  
“Sorry to hear it,” Koki grins, raising his glass in salute.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Kame has gone a little bit overboard with the food, Jin thinks when they all finally settle around the dining table. There’s hardly enough room left for their plates with all the side dishes, everything prepared with the kind of rigorous attention to detail he brings to all his work. Jin has been watching him prepare it in pieces for the last couple of days, but he never grasped the sheer quantity until it was all spread out at once like this.  
  
“Maybe we should invite Arashi over to eat the other half of this,” he suggests, and Kame throws a brussels sprout at him from across the table.  
  
They all dig in, and even though there’s no pasta Jin finds that whatever Kame was doing all that time with this stuff it was clearly worth it. Everything is delicious, and he doesn’t seem to be the only one who thinks so. The obligatory compliments are interspersed with genuine exclamations, and at one point Kame and Ueda get into an in-depth conversation about the best way to season squid karaage. Jin mostly finds himself asking questions of the others, trying to absorb as much as he can of seven years’ worth of apartment moves, relationship changes, career developments. Koki admits to having adopted a fourth cat last month, and Junno starts calling him “cat lady.” Koki shows his appreciation by dropping an ice cube down the back of Junno’s shirt and making him leap up from the table, laughing until it bounces across the wood floor.  
  
They don’t quite leave half of the food behind, but there’s at least a third of it left by the time the last of them gives up the ghost. Kame jumps up to start putting things away, but Jin beats him to the punch, pointing out that while his cooking may be toxic, at least he can put food into plastic containers without potentially blowing anything up.  
  
“Don’t count on it,” Koki warns.  
  
“Remember to label the containers,” Kame calls after him, and Jin nods obediently as he whisks the first few plates away into the kitchen. He hears chairs scraping on the floor as the others get to their feet, migrating toward the living room with their drinks. Just as he’s starting to consolidate the leftovers, Jin hears somebody join him in the kitchen and set a pile of plates down by the sink. He glances up from the plastic container he’s dutifully labeling with a sharpie.  
  
“So,” Ueda says, picking up his wine glass from the counter and leaning one hip against it. “How are things really going?”  
  
Jin is a little surprised by the question. He’s always liked Ueda—they used to collaborate on songs a lot in the early days when they were just figuring things out, before their styles diverged—and he’s always found him a calming presence. Not too demanding. But he wouldn’t exactly have said they were close friends either—Ueda just isn’t the close type, at least not around this group. Then again, Jin reminds himself, he has a seven-year blank in his memory. A lot can change in seven years.  
  
“Things are…okay,” he says, reaching for a plate of sliced meatloaf and another empty container.  
  
Ueda nods, takes a thoughtful sip of his wine. And it’s nice, Jin realizes, having someone to listen. Not that Kame doesn’t listen of course, but there are some things he can’t really talk to Kame about. Like Kame.  
  
“It’s been strange,” he admits, eyes focused on the meatloaf. “Not bad. Really not bad, just…strange. In some ways I feel like I’ve traveled back in time—like we’re the way we used to be when we were kids, before things got sort of…rocky. But other stuff is different.”  
  
Ueda nods again. “Are you sleeping together?”  
  
If Jin had been the one drinking the wine, he’d have choked on it. As it is, he sees an apologetic smile flit across Ueda’s face when the container lid flips out of his hands.  
  
“Sorry—that probably sounds like a nosy question. I keep forgetting. Seven years is a lot.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin says. “Tell me about it.” He picks up the lid and rinses it off at the sink before returning to the meatloaf. “We…we haven’t yet, exactly. I mean, I wasn’t supposed to for a while, and there was this one time when I—”  
  
He stumbles, because it feels weird all of a sudden, like he’s navigating a forest blindfolded. He doesn’t mind having someone to talk to, but he doesn’t want to freak Ueda out by blundering across an unseen boundary somewhere. Or spill details of their personal life that Kame wouldn’t want others to know, for that matter.  
  
“We…did some stuff,” he amends. Suitably vague, though he gets the impression Ueda’s putting the pieces together pretty well. “But just the once. And he hasn’t wanted to since then. Or if he has, he hasn’t let me know about it.”  
  
“But you’re okay with it?” Ueda asks. “Just picking up where you left off?”  
  
Jin shrugs. “If I can figure out where that is,” he says. “Yeah. I’m okay with it. I think I’d like that.”  
  
“Have you told him?”  
  
Jin purses his lips and glances up, first at Ueda, and then out toward the living room. Kame is sitting between Koki and Nakamaru on the couch, laughing hysterically at something Junno’s just said, while the other two share an exasperated look over his head.  
  
“I’ll take that sappy look in your eyes as a no,” Ueda smirks.  
  
Jin shoots him a glare, but Ueda just punches him on the shoulder and drains his wine glass, setting it down on the counter.  
  
“Go get him, space cowboy. He’s just waiting for you to.”  
  
Jin follows Ueda out of the kitchen with his eyes, watches as he flops into the armchair on the opposite side of the room. The others seem to have started a game of charades—Koki is miming what looks to Jin like a Jedi with a lightsaber, and Kame is reeling off titles of Kurosawa films while Koki glares at him, looking like he wants to head-butt him.  
  
Jin smiles.  
  
*      *      *  
  
“I think Koki drank more of your scotch than you did,” Kame says as he collects the empty glasses off the coffee table and brings them into the kitchen. He carefully unloads them from his arms one by one and sets them next to the sink, where Jin is rinsing off the few dishes that don’t fit in the dishwasher.  
  
“It’s only fair,” Jin says. “He brought it.”  
  
“For you, supposedly.”  
  
Jin shrugs. “It’s scotch. What do I know about it?”  
  
“What does Koki know about it?”  
  
Jin chuckles. “You tell me. I didn’t even know he had one cat, and now apparently he’s got four.”  
  
Kame’s eyes flick over to Jin’s and his smile comes a little late. Damn. The eggshells are thinner on the ground these days, but it still hurts when he steps on one.  
  
Once all the dishes are collected by the sink, Kame goes back out into the living room to keep putting things in order. Jin watches him over the open countertop, picking up throw pillows that have been used as floor cushions, sorting out important papers from random crumpled scraps and throwing the latter in the recycling. There’s a big fat binder sitting on the coffee table, a bunch of post it notes sticking out the top, full of action items and to do lists from the meeting portion of the evening. A lot of it was catch-up for Jin’s benefit, but there was some progress made as well. Turns out a lot of things sort of got put on emergency hiatus after the accident, pending Jin’s recovery. Now that he’s healthy again, they’re starting to figure out where and when those things can be fit back into the schedule, and what they want to do about the rest of the items that were penciled in on the group’s agenda further on down the road.  
  
Jin watches as Kame picks up the binder and picks at a loose piece of plastic on the corner, frowning at it like he’s not sure what to do with it. Kame was businesslike as always while the others were there, ever the fearless leader, if only by default. But Jin could see it. The way Kame avoided his eyes when they started talking about what comes next. The way he buried himself in his notes whenever Ueda had to tell him about a song he himself had written, or some plan he’d suggested.  
  
It worked for a while, the bubble. It was what he needed while he put himself back together, to be protected and isolated and not think too much about the things he didn’t know, about anything outside of the present. He thinks maybe Kame needed that too. But it’s not a place either of them can stay forever.  
  
Jin finishes up with the dishes and comes out to find Kame with the binder on his knees, flipping through some of the notes from the evening and scribbling things in the margins, moving post-its around to flag things for later review.  
  
“Hey,” Jin says, tugging on his sleeve. “It’s late. Leave the rest for tomorrow, okay?”  
  
“Hm?” Kame looks up distractedly, then returns to the binder and scribbles something else next to a note about another song Jin can’t remember—somebody mentioned it in the meeting, but they got off topic before he could get a decent recap. “Just a few more minutes. I’m almost done.”  
  
“Nope,” Jin says, plucking the pen out of Kame’s hand and putting the cap back on.  
  
“Jin—”  
  
“I’m overriding your working privileges. You’ve been cooking for like three days, and it’s time for bed.”  
  
Kame sighs as Jin folds up the binder as well and puts it on the bookshelf, but he doesn’t protest. Instead he gets to his feet and stretches his arms above his head. “Fine,” he yawns. “But if I forget all my brilliant ideas by tomorrow, you’re taking the blame for it.”  
  
“Par for the course,” Jin says, and pokes Kame in the back to nudge him toward the bedroom.  
  
They change into boxers and t-shirts, take turns brushing their teeth. Jin dawdles at the nightstand while Kame finishes up in the bathroom, checking to make sure his alarm isn’t set to some weird hour that’s either going to wake him up early or scare the crap out of him in the middle of the day. He doesn’t have anything in particular to do tomorrow, so after a brief debate he just switches it off.  
  
Kame comes out of the bathroom, and Jin slides under the covers on his side just as Kame does the same. When Kame reaches over to turn out the light, Jin stops him with a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Wait,” he says. Kame looks at him questioningly, and Jin runs a hand down Kame’s forearm, taking Kame’s hand in his. “Can we talk for a bit?”  
  
Kame still looks confused, but he nods, settles back against the headboard again. Jin pulls his hand into his lap and holds it between his, stroking gently. He takes it as a good sign that Kame neither pulls away nor seems to find it strange.  
  
“I’ve noticed,” he says, “how you’re being…careful lately. With me. I just thought we should…” Jin breaks off with a sigh. It would help if he could get his words straight before they actually left his mouth. He still doesn’t have much practice at this stuff. None that’s doing him any good right now, anyway.  
  
“Is everything okay?” Jin asks finally, looking over at Kame. Kame looks like he doesn’t know how to answer, and Jin rushes on. “I mean, I guess what I’m trying to say is that it sort of seems like you’re not okay, and if you’re not, I want you to be able to talk to me. Even if it’s about me. I don’t want you to be worried.”  
  
Kame swallows and looks down at his lap, and now Jin thinks maybe he’s getting through.  
  
“Okay,” Kame says. He squeezes Jin’s hand a little bit and runs his tongue over his lips. He looks like he’s having a little trouble getting his words straight too.  
  
“I’ve been…” Kame begins. “I’ve been looking up stuff on the internet. About amnesia. How it works.”  
  
Jin purses his lips slightly, but just listens, stroking Kame’s hand. He had a feeling.  
  
“I know…I know it’s not one-hundred-percent, but the timelines…it…it’s not good. I know the chances are getting slimmer.” He licks his lips again, and his eyes dart around a little. Not exactly avoiding Jin, but not looking at him either. “I’m really scared,” he admits.  
  
Jin nods silently, looking down at their hands. His thumb strokes back and forth over Kame’s knuckles, and Kame’s fingers find his. Slide in between and hold on a little bit. Just a little bit.  
  
“I know it’s not your fault,” Kame says, and now he does look at Jin. His gaze is a little bit raw, and it almost hurts to look, but Jin does. He doesn’t like seeing Kame scared. Kame’s never scared. “I know that. And I’m really, really glad that you’re okay. I mean this—the whole thing could have turned out much worse, and it’s not even me who has to deal with the—so it hardly seems fair that I’m—but I can’t help it. All of that. Everything, all of us together, all those years, when I think that all of that might be just gone, I…” Kame lets out a breath. “It scares the crap out of me. I’m afraid of losing…everything.”  
  
Everything. Jin smiles a little bit.  
  
He lifts Kame’s hand to his lips and presses a soft kiss to the back of it, then tucks it more securely into his lap.  
  
“You won’t lose everything,” Jin says. “I promise.” His heart is beating a little faster than usual, and he can feel Kame’s eyes on him when he presses his lips together and tries to find the words again. He looks down at his lap and fidgets with Kame’s fingers.  
  
“The doctor told me,” he says. “About the timelines.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kame says with a glum twitch of his lips. “I kind of thought so.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
Kame shakes his head quickly and squeezes Jin’s hand again. “It’s not your fault.”  
  
“No, I know, but I mean—about not telling you. I should have talked to you about it then.”  
  
“You don’t have to,” Kame says. “It’s…it’s not my business.”  
  
Jin sighs. Alright, so maybe he’s not getting through as much as he thought. “No, you don’t get it—it is your business. I want it to be your business. It’s about us.”  
  
Kame blinks at him, and Jin feels a little bit shy. Which is stupid, because this is Kame, but he can’t help it. Because it’s Kame.  
  
“I love you,” he says. It comes out a little broken and awkward, like a school kid on the playground and not a grown man talking to his own husband. But whatever. It’s the best he can do. Kame knows he’s not smooth, not when it counts. “I know how hard it is for you, me being like this. Not being able to remember the important things. And maybe I can’t. Maybe I won’t be able to. But every day I spend here with you, I’m more sure that I want to stay. And even if I never remember everything, even if you fall off a scaffolding and forget it all too, I don’t think that would ever change the way I feel about you. Even if I had to find you and fall for you all over again, I think I always would.”  
  
He thinks of the dreams, the crushing quiet and the warm oasis of Kame and his apartment. Their apartment. “I can’t imagine a me that doesn’t love you.”  
  
When he looks over at Kame again, his eyes are wide, and he kind of looks like he’s been holding his breath. It slips out of him in a rush when Jin looks at him, and suddenly Kame’s hand disappears from between his and his arms are around Jin’s shoulders, hugging him tight. Jin laughs a little in surprise, curving into the awkward angle, but Kame just breathes a shudder against his neck and Jin stops laughing. When he thinks he can, he works his arm out from in between them and shifts a bit to slide them around Kame’s waist, holding on as tightly as he can with his torso twisted as it is.  
  
“I’m not going anywhere,” Jin promises, stroking up and down Kame’s back. He feels Kame nod against his throat, hug his shoulders a little tighter. “We can start over again, make new memories for both of us. We have plenty of time.”  
  
Kame’s fingers trail over the back of his head, and Kame nods again, letting out another unsteady breath. When he finally finds his voice again, Jin hears a tiny “thank you” from somewhere between his neck and his shoulder, and he grins, squeezing Kame’s ribcage.  
  
“Don’t thank me, idiot,” he mutters. “I’m telling you I love you, not remembering to pick up the dry cleaning.”  
  
Kame’s shoulders shake a little bit, and Jin feels it halfway between a laugh and a sob. Kame’s lips are warm against his neck, and his chin, and when he sits back his eyes are a little wet, but he doesn’t hide them. Unless that’s the reason he presses his lips against Jin’s—but when Kame’s lips part and warmth pours into the kiss, he thinks there are probably other reasons. He tilts his head into the kiss, and Kame lets him, doesn’t pull away and keep his distance, and Jin takes that as a good sign. He’s kissed Kame, but not like this, not since that day in the shower. When Kame’s hand trails down over Jin’s chest and finds its way underneath his shirt, warm against the small of his back, Jin shivers a little bit and takes it as a very good sign.  
  
They huddle down together underneath the covers, sweetly entangled where it’s warm and close and it’s just the two of them, and it’s like the first time. For Jin, it is the first time.  
  
He relishes the feeling of Kame against him everywhere, his breath hitching every time Jin whispers love in his ear, and he feels so lucky. Lucky that he didn’t die when he fell off that scaffolding, lucky that he let Kame close enough to make him fall in love all over again. Lucky that whoever he was all those years ago didn’t walk away when he could have. Lucky to have found this, not once, but twice.  
  
When Kame finally settles against him, still sneaking sideways kisses against Jin’s sweaty skin, Jin runs his fingers through Kame’s dark hair and keeps him close. The satisfied hum in his skin gradually coalesces into a warm, sweet feeling deep in his chest. It takes him a while to realize it’s the feeling of coming home. And it’s not the cozy blue walls or the photo albums or the closet full of clothes in his size that makes this place feel like home.  
  
Jin smiles, even as he falls asleep.  
  
*      *      *  
  
When he wakes he’s not sure where he is—only that Kame is there, holding him close, his chest rising and falling under Jin’s cheek. The bedroom is the same as always, the duvet tucked in around them, a few shafts of sunlight slanting in through the window. He can’t tell if he’s dreaming or not, but somehow it doesn’t matter right now. If it’s a dream, it’s a nice one.  
  
Kame…  
  
He can’t see his face in this position, but he knows the feel of him so well. They fit together so well. Kame is warm and soft, his muscles lax under Jin’s fingers, and Jin feels like he’s awakened in this bed every morning of his life. Kame’s smile, arms around him, soft whispers against his spine, the way he kisses Jin when Jin tells him that he loves him. It all runs together now, and Jin doesn’t know where he is, but for the first time in a very long time he thinks maybe he finally knows who he is.  
  
He lifts his head from Kame’s chest, draws his gaze up over pale skin, along the line of his throat and his perfect chin, the funny little bump in his nose and one artfully-curved eyebrow, the other hidden by a flop of red bangs.  
  
 _I love you._  
  
The words are his. He can hear them in his own voice. He said them, and he meant them, and they leave him a little bit breathless, a little bit terrified. And a little bit happy. He’s never even considered it. All the crazy in his head, all the dreams and delusions, the wild urges and obsessive thoughts, and the only thing keeping him from drowning in the quiet is this. For a while he just stares at Kame, waiting for the warmth inside him to dissipate, to fade into the background like the dreams always do when he wakes—but it doesn’t. It just settles there, like it belongs.  
  
He leans up and kisses Kame gently on the cheek, smiles as he twitches and begins to stir. When Jin’s lips move over his, Kame’s part slightly to welcome him. Like he belongs. Kame’s fingers find their way into his hair as he shifts sleepily against Jin, warm and comfortable and familiar, and Jin thinks they could spend the rest of their lives right here in this bed and he wouldn’t mind a bit.  
  
“Morning,” Jin says, smiling down at him.  
  
Kame smiles back, lip sliding briefly between his teeth as he tucks a lock of hair back behind Jin’s ear. “Morning.”  
  
 _I like waking up with you_ , his eyes say, and Jin kisses him again lightly, replying in kind.  
  
“What do you want to do today?” Kame asks.  
  
Jin grins and wriggles against him slowly, enjoying the contented flutter of Kame’s eyelids. “Besides this?”  
  
Kame tugs on his hair. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Besides that. Although that could also be arranged…”  
  
“Mm,” Jin makes a show of thinking hard, “lunch? Like, maybe outside, in the real world? With tables and waiters and nobody having to cook?”  
  
“Well, somebody better be cooking…”  
  
“Yeah, but not you. Or god-forbid, me.”  
  
Kame grins and tilts his face up to kiss Jin’s chin. “I’m amenable to that. But don’t you think we should maybe do something about breakfast before we start thinking about lunch?”  
  
Jin wriggles again, this time a little more pointedly, and the way Kame’s eyes darken over his smile tells Jin he’s getting the message. “I’m not particularly hungry right now. Are you?”  
  
Kame shakes his head slowly and runs a hand down Jin’s back, pushing up against him. “Not a bit,” he murmurs.  
  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jin knows that out there nothing has changed. Even if the same part of him knows that inside him everything has changed. Kame’s words from last night are still lingering in the shadows of the bedroom, and there are things for him to go home to this evening, but for now they can stay here tangled together for as long as they want. They can make plans, even if they’re only for lunch. For a little while, they can stay asleep.  
  
*      *      *  
  
There are tables outside the restaurant, and a few intrepid souls are actually sitting at them, sipping coffee in the chilly late-fall breeze. Kame starts to ask Jin if he’d like to sit outside or inside, but Jin cuts him off with an “are you insane?” look, and Kame just grins and asks the host for a table by the windows. Indoors.  
  
They get a few looks as they walk through the restaurant. It’s not like the pub, not nearly so quiet and off the beaten track, but it’s on the classier end of the casual-dining continuum and at least people seem too polite to gawk openly or snap pictures or anything like that. Even if they do whisper a bit. Jin takes off his sunglasses to look at the menu, but keeps his jacket on. It’s a little bit cold right next to the window glass—the chill is giving him a slight headache. Or maybe that’s the beer from last night—he drank those last two a bit quickly, and that was on top of the wine from dinner.  
  
“What are you having?” Jin asks when he sets aside his menu and takes a sip from his water glass.  
  
“Mm…lobster thermidor, I think,” Kame decides, though his eyes are still skimming the list. “How about you?”  
  
“Mushroom tortellini,” Jin says, picking up a crumpled straw wrapper and flattening it out so he can fold it into tiny sections.  
  
“Pasta, again?”  
  
“It’s good,” Jin protests, but a smile tugs at his lips. He knows full well Kame picked this restaurant because of the extensive pasta menu. They passed two yakiniku places and a really nice sushi bar on the way here, and he didn’t even falter.  
  
They have to keep a lid on the gossip here while they’re out in public, and they can’t exactly sit around holding hands or making eyes at each other, but that’s okay—not like they do that all the time in private anyway. Well, maybe they sort of do, but Jin doesn’t think it’s mushy, sitting tangled up together on the couch or playing strip poker on the living room floor. It’s just fun. Kame makes it fun.  
  
Kame talks about his draft hopes for the Giants in the upcoming season and ignores Jin’s exaggerated yawns, and Jin retaliates with a detailed rant about the offsides rule. Over their main courses they end up inventing a game that would combine the two in a giant oval crisscrossed by baselines, although Kame suggests helmets and padding like American football players for the soccer guys, to give them some hope of defending against the baseball players equipped with bats. Jin says that would take all the sport out of it.  
  
After lunch they wander a little further on down the road, where the car traffic gives way to foot traffic and there’s a long street fair. Jin briefly wonders if maybe it’s not such a good idea to go in there, with so many people and so few avenues of escape, considering…everything. But then he realizes that even if they get swarmed by paparazzi, the worst that could come of it is an article or two about them possibly not hating each other anymore. There’s nothing suspicious about walking together in broad daylight, bundled up against the wind. And once they get into the main strip of the fair, he finds things are so crowded and bustling that nobody really even seems to see them, much less notice who they are.  
  
Jin is standing at the edge of one of the stalls inspecting the angle of a charcoal gray pinstriped fedora in the mirror when a sudden pulse above his right eye makes the ground beneath him go all tilty. He blinks and sways, heart thudding, and for a moment he thinks it’s an earthquake—until he realizes he’s the only one in the vicinity who feels it. His head throbs again, and he kneads his forehead with his fingertips, grabbing onto the shelf to keep from losing his balance.  
  
There’s a warm hand on his back.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
He nods, but he still doesn’t quite feel like he can open his eyes. It seems like it’s gotten brighter out here all of a sudden, even from behind his sunglasses. The light reaches him through his eyelids even when he squeezes them shut.  
  
“Just a headache,” Jin says.  
  
“Do you want something?” Kame asks. “We can go home if you want.”  
  
Jin shakes his head, but cuts off the motion midway because it elicits another tiny throb. “I’m fine,” he says, breathing in and then out again—and it’s passing, it’s easing up. He can open his eyes now, though it’s still too bright.  
  
“You sure?” Kame asks, his hand making little circles on Jin’s back, and Jin smiles. He doesn’t think Kame even knows he’s doing it.  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sure.”  
  
He leaves the fedora where it was—he almost bought it, but then remembered he has one that’s nearly identical somewhere tucked away at the back of his closet—and they continue strolling between the stalls, glancing in every now and then. After a while, Jin wishes he’d bought the hat after all, just to shade him from the light while they walk. Sometimes the ground tilts again and he nearly grabs onto Kame’s sleeve—but then it’s okay, and he just keeps walking, enjoying the way their shoulders bump accidentally when the crowd gets too thick. The air is cool and crisp, a little chilly for Jin, but the bodyheat around them makes it nice, and the bustle is warm and friendly.  
  
Then his head pounds so hard it makes him gasp.  
  
He blinks. And he’s back in the apartment.  
  
The bed is empty beside him, and his head is pounding, and he doesn’t know how he got here, but he doesn’t remember where he thought he was. He’s alone, but there’s sound somewhere, and he tumbles out of bed, stumbling against the wall. Kame’s somewhere. His head hurts.  
  
“Jin?” Kame says when he opens his eyes, and Jin hasn’t even noticed that he’s stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk, fingers clutching Kame’s jacket sleeve so hard Kame has to twist himself free to grab onto his shoulders. He shuts his eyes tight and he feels like he might throw up, wants to warn Kame to get out of the way, but he can’t even open his mouth.  
  
Something slips and he stumbles against the wall again, blinking, feeling his way along the pitching hallway until he finally rounds the corner into the kitchen. It’s full of street stalls and people and the smell of breakfast cooking. Kame’s hair is red and the sun is too bright. The pavement turns to tile under his feet, and he can feel it through his shoes as though he were barefoot.  
  
“Jin?”  
  
Kame turns toward him from the stove and his face falls. It echoes, a hand at his back, a hand on his arm, dark hair then red. Scared. It  _hurts_. Another nail drives through his skull and he gasps, clutches at nothing. His head hurts like hell, and he can’t quite breathe. The only thing telling him which way is up are the hands on him, trying to keep him standing. Kame’s voice is everywhere, asking questions he can’t make sense of over the rush, can’t sort out because they overlap, and he’s scared. He’s really scared.  
  
It throbs again, and he hears his own strangled sob.  
  
Kame’s hand is at the nape of his neck, and he’s still talking, but Jin can’t hear him. Just hears his name over and over, and then the world tilts over, and he feels himself sliding away, feels Kame’s hands trying to stop him from sliding away. The last thing he hears is his name on Kame’s lips.


	12. Chapter 12

The first thing he hears is the gentle beeping of the heart monitor.  
  
There’s light, but not too bright, and something warm and soft against his palm. His head feels a little fuzzy, but it doesn’t really hurt. Everything just feels sluggish, heavy, drifting. As he opens his eyes and blinks a few times into the soft light, the room gradually comes into focus. The crème-colored walls, the half-pulled privacy curtain shielding the door from view, and Kame at his bedside. Jin’s hand in his.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Jin mutters, his words slurring a bit like it’s taking his breath too long to reach his lips. “How long was I out this time?”  
  
Kame’s eyebrows arch, just barely. “This time? Don’t tell me you make a habit of this.”  
  
Jin blinks a couple of times, wondering where that look is coming from. Because it’s not like Kame wouldn’t remember. Two months isn’t  _that_  long. Maybe Kame’s the one who has amnesia this time, he thinks blurrily, smiling a little at his own nonsense. This time Kame can be awkward and stumbly and give him handjobs in the shower.  
  
It takes him another few moments to realize that the man sitting at his bedside with his fingers gently stroking Jin’s knuckles has red hair, not black. And he’s sitting on the other side this time. And there’s no ring on his finger.  
  
Or rather, he wears several rings—just not the one that matters.  
  
Jin blinks again, trying to push away the fuzziness and sort through the conflicting memories, the jar of expectation against reality. The sluggishness is annoying, but it’s getting better. Kame looks concerned.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“Yeah,” he says automatically. But he’s not. He’s thinking, trying to remember what came before this. When he pushes at it a bit it starts to come back to him—the last thing he remembers clearly is being with Kame out on the street. Trying on a fedora in the mirror, and the sun was too bright, even though it was slightly overcast. And then that headache and he felt sick, and everything sort of went weird and then, just…nothing.  
  
No day with Kame on their sofa paging through photo albums he can’t remember. No lurching at the occasional twinge in his side. No perfect Jin-customized lasagna in the apartment with the plants in the corner. Just…nothing.  
  
No dreams at all.  
  
“It’s gone,” he murmurs, before he can stop himself.  
  
He feels Kame’s hand tighten a little over his. “What’s gone?”  
  
“The dreams,” he says. His voice is scratchy, and he swallows, trying to find some moisture on his tongue. “I…was asleep and I didn’t dream.”  
  
Kame blinks at him. “Jin, you’ve just had brain surgery. I think dreams are the least of your worries right now.”  
  
“Brain surgery?” Jin repeats, and now he really does feel awake.  
  
Kame’s lips twitch up, like he’s trying for a casual smirk to soften the blow, but it’s the worst imitation Jin’s ever seen. His grip on Jin’s hand doesn’t let up. “Don’t worry. They said the tumor was benign and very close to the surface. Just above your right temple. They were able to perform the surgery before you suffered any permanent damage from the sudden increase in intracranial pressure, and your last MRI was completely clean.”  
  
Jin doesn’t bother to ask where on earth Kame learned all that medical jargon or how Kame convinced them to give him all this information despite his lack of official status in Jin’s life. He assumes there were autographs involved. Or maybe just the usual Kamenashi charm. No one can say no to Kame when he wants them to say yes.  
  
“Shit,” Jin says, trying to absorb all this information. A brain tumor is a pretty fucking scary concept to contemplate, even if it is supposedly gone now. Before he even knew it existed. The word “benign” only helps a little.  
  
He wonders where Meisa is—someone must have called her. The Kamenashi charm goes a long way, but probably not quite far enough to allow him to approve emergency surgery when Jin’s wife is listed as his next of kin.  
  
Jin notices that Kame is still stroking his knuckles in that soothing way. When he glances down at their joined hands, Kame stops immediately, like he’s just realized he’s doing it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Kame says, and he looks suddenly guilty. “I know I probably shouldn’t be here still, it’s just…”  
  
 _I wanted to be here when you woke up._  
  
“…I was worried. You just collapsed. It scared the shit out of me. I…wanted to make sure you were okay.”  
  
“It’s okay,” Jin says.  _I’m glad you’re here_. “Thanks.”  
  
Kame smiles a little bit, but doesn’t resume stroking Jin’s knuckles.  
  
A brain tumor. What does a brain tumor even do? He’s never had a reason to really wonder before, never pursued an answer of any greater depth than “kill you.” But this one hasn’t killed him, and it’s gone, and Kame seems to think it’s okay. The doctors think it’s okay. It fucking hurt while it was…doing that intracranial thing Kame talked about, but now he feels mostly okay, aside from the fuzziness. But he felt mostly okay before too, except for the…  
  
“Headaches,” Jin mumbles. Then he scrunches up his face and sighs. “The damn headaches…fuck. You were right.”  
  
Kame frowns at him. “Right about what?”  
  
“That I should’ve gotten them checked out. I just thought they were from the—”  
  
No. No, not the scar. Of course they weren’t from the scar. The scar was probably from the headaches.  
  
“You never told me about any headaches,” Kame says.  
  
 _Yes, I did,_  Jin thinks.  _You were worried. You touched my forehead and I made your wrinkles go away._  
  
“No,” he says. “Right. I didn’t, did I.”  
  
That was all in his head. And it’s gone now.  
  
It takes him a little while to notice that there still seems to be something troubled in Kame’s eyes. When Kame glances down at their hands again, fidgeting slightly, he knows he’s right.  
  
“They said there might have been some other symptoms too,” Kame says. “Things you might have noticed, but just not put together. Disorientation, sleep problems, stuff like that.”  
  
“The dreams?” Jin says, and something about that sends a jolt through his system. It almost scares him more than the tumor, and he doesn’t know why, because that’s ridiculous.  
  
Kame shakes his head. “They didn’t say anything about dreams, specifically—but who knows, maybe the disorientation just…made them seem more real than they were. Somehow.”  
  
 _Yeah_ , Jin thinks.  _Maybe_. But the idea doesn’t bring him any comfort. If anything, it makes him feel worse.  
  
“They also said that this type of tumor can cause a person to experience…changes in personality.”  
  
Jin frowns at Kame for a moment, at the resigned look in his eyes. He wants to ask what he’s thinking, but then he doesn’t. He doesn’t have to.  
  
Changes in personality.  
  
Jin opens his mouth—but as soon as he does, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know what he  _wants_  to say. Changes in personality. Disorientation. Sleep problems. Midnight phone calls and cheese puff disasters. Headaches and hearing voices. Dreams that seem like waking, sneaking around in the shadows of everything he has, everything he’s built his life on. Everything he’s been doing for the past two months suddenly looks different through the lens of a concrete malady, and he doesn’t know what to believe about any of it.  
  
He’s been saying for weeks that he felt like he was going crazy. What if that was actually true?  
  
He knows he should say something. There has to be something you’re supposed to say at a moment like this, when you realize you might not be who you thought you were. But Kame doesn’t seem to be waiting for him to say anything. He knows already. Kame always knows.  
  
He’s even smiling a little. That same sad smile.  
  
He bends his head and presses a soft kiss against Jin’s knuckles, lingering with eyes closed. Then he carefully sets Jin’s hand down on the mattress beside him and sits back, hands fisted on his knees.  
  
“It’s okay,” he says.  
  
Before Jin can respond, there’s a metallic clang from the other side of the privacy curtain. Jin can’t see what it is, but Kame looks over, and even Jin can see the way his face pales.  
  
When Meisa steps around the edge of the curtain with Kana on her hip, Jin doesn’t have to ask why.  
  
She stares from one to the other of them, and Jin flounders. His heart pounds in his ears, and he knows he’d be having trouble figuring out what to do here even if his head weren’t still fuzzy from the anesthesia and whatever medication is dripping through the needle in his hand. Even Kame seems at a loss, and the longer there’s silence, the more certain Meisa is that it wasn’t a mistake.  
  
She saw. She  _saw_.  
  
“Daddy!” Kana says, squirming in Meisa’s arms until Meisa remembers that she’s there and puts her down, and Kana runs over and tries to pull herself up onto Jin’s hospital bed.  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” Jin manages, patting her gently on the head to keep her down on the floor. Her eyes look a little red, but her face is beaming, and she grabs his fingers and starts mashing his knuckles together rather painfully. He winces.  
  
“You have to be careful with Daddy, sweetheart,” Meisa says. Her voice is soft, almost normal, but Jin can hear the effort she’s putting into it. She pries Kana’s hands off Jin’s fingers, doesn’t touch him any longer than necessary. She doesn’t look him in the eye, and even as she smiles at Kana her eyes are flickering with confused thoughts. “He’s still recovering. We can talk to him, but we have to let him rest.”  
  
She picks Kana up again to keep her from getting clingy, and maybe also to occupy her own hands. Kame has stood up at some point, and Meisa is looking over at him like she wants to ask him something, a lot of somethings, but it’s not the time or place and Kana is here, and there’s nothing she could possibly ask that would make it better. If there were, they would have explained themselves already. If it were nothing, they could have said so even over Kana’s head.  
  
Meisa looks away again and sits down in the chair on the opposite side of Jin’s bed, settling Kana in her lap.  
  
“I should probably go,” Kame says, pressing his lips together grimly. He gives Meisa a small bow, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. She doesn’t even seem quite aware that he’s still there. Kame looks at Jin like he wants to say something else, but it’s not the time or the place for that either. And he’s said it all anyway.  
  
Kana starts talking about the weekend at Grandma’s place and how Grandpa got a speeding ticket trying to rush them to the hospital, and Jin tries to listen even as he watches Kame turn toward the door, cross by the foot of his bed. He pauses by the edge of the privacy curtain and looks back at Jin again for a long moment. Then nods his head slowly. Not quite a bow.  
  
Just a goodbye.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Jin sleeps a lot that first week.  
  
They keep him in the hospital for observation for three days. He doesn’t remember much of it, except for the therapy sessions—the rest of the time passes in a blur of boredom and blank unconsciousness. There are blood tests and MRI scans, a barrage of questions to make sure that his memory is intact, that his speech functions are in order, that his mental abilities are back to normal. The hardest part is when they spring a math quiz on him. He gets about half the answers wrong, but he assures the doctor that it’s perfectly normal. The doctor tells him it’s alright—half the point of the test was just to make sure he could still hold and operate a pencil. He passed that part with flying colors.  
  
The therapy sessions are a bit boring too, but at least they aren’t hard. They test his fine motor skills, his balance, his ability to dress himself and climb stairs. He finds he gets tired even more easily than usual, but other than that he doesn’t seem to have suffered any ill effects. They assure him the tiredness is normal following surgery, and he nods along like it’s new information, but in the back of his mind he’s thinking,  _Tell me about it_.  
  
At least it doesn’t hurt so much to move. It’s strange how the memory of that stays with him so vividly, even though it wasn’t real. The memories of a lot of things.  
  
Meisa brings Kana to the hospital to visit him every day. She doesn’t seem too worried, which is good. The bandage on his head freaked her out a little bit the first time they came, but she seemed far less troubled by it when he told her he would most likely have a scar. Apparently bandages equal scary, but a scar just makes him look tough, like he could protect her from a street gang, or Godzilla, or whatever Disney villain is currently living under her bed. The whole ordeal is almost worth it for the dad-points.  
  
They don’t talk much to each other, but Meisa seems less shaken than she did that first day. Some of the apparent calm is probably for Kana’s sake, but he knows her—she actually is tough, scar or no scar. She can hold things together even when other people wouldn’t be able to. She’s kind and pleasant, and she asks how he’s feeling and confers with the doctors about his care, but she doesn’t touch him unless it’s necessary, and they’re never alone together. In a way it’s almost normal. It’s the way they’ve been for months. The way they were until recently, when things were better again. Sort of.  
  
It’s Reio who picks him up on the day he’s discharged. Kana is staying with her grandparents for the next couple of weeks so that Jin will be able to have peace and quiet at home, and so that Meisa will have her hands free to take care of him. She helps him into bed when he arrives and brings him hot tea and onigiri. Reio leaves after he’s asleep.  
  
Jin spends most of the next several days in bed while Meisa keeps an eye on him, brings him whatever he needs. A few times he tries to get a conversation going—about the weather, about her work, about the obvious. But Meisa doesn’t let him. Just tells him he needs his rest and closes the door again. The other things can wait. She sleeps in Kana’s room.  
  
He still sleeps a lot the second week, but as no major complications have arisen and he’s feeling mostly normal aside from feeling tired all the time, they decide it’s alright if she leaves him alone occasionally. She does some work and some errands during the day, has dinner at her parents’ house with Kana in the evenings. Jin’s mother brings Kana to visit him for a couple of hours every day, until he gets tired again. His mother doesn’t know anything about what happened, he can tell, and he’s glad Meisa has kept it between them. It makes things easier, for now.  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s been more than two weeks since he left the hospital. It’s midafternoon, but Jin is still in bed, staring up at the ceiling and thinking. He’s been doing a lot of that these days, not that it’s really gotten him anywhere. But he does it anyway, letting the thoughts and memories chase each other around in circles. Trying one on every now and then to see if it still fits.  
  
He doesn’t dream of Kame anymore. Most of the time, he doesn’t dream at all.  
  
He pushes back the covers and gets to his feet, wanders into the bathroom to use the facilities. Sometimes he wonders how much of the sluggishness is really from the surgery and how much is self-perpetuating, aided by his natural inclination to roll over and go back to sleep. After he washes his hands, he splashes a little cold water on his face, careful of the small bandage still protecting the incision underneath his bangs.  
  
It’s the shortest haircut he’s had in years. Luckily the tumor was located near his right temple, so they only had to actually shave a small section at the edge of his hairline near the incision site. He can’t really imagine what he would look like completely bald, and he hopes he’ll never have to find out. To compensate for the weird patch, Jin took a page out of Pi’s book and went for that hairstyle that’s buzzed short at the temples but still long on top, so the buzzed part doesn’t show unless he sweeps his hair back from his face. Not bad. Pi always sold it better, but at least it makes him look less like he was shaving while drunk and overshot his face.  
  
He wipes his hands off on the towel and moves back through the bedroom and into the living room. Meisa is in the kitchen doing something quiet—not cooking. Maybe reading or sorting through the mail. He sits down on the couch and glances over at the television. Briefly he considers turning it on, as that tends to make it more interesting, but then he decides against it. He’s not really in the mood.  
  
He’s not sure exactly how long he’s been sitting there when Meisa comes in. He doesn’t even notice she’s there until she speaks.  
  
“Here,” she says.  
  
He glances up at the steaming mug she’s holding out to him.  
  
“Sorry it’s not coffee,” she says as he takes it and peers into the lightly tinted liquid, warming his fingers on the ceramic. “You’re not supposed to have caffeine.”  
  
 _Doctor’s orders_ , he thinks. But he catches himself before he says it.  
  
Meisa takes a seat in the chair adjacent. She’s brought her own tea, but hers is in one of the fine handleless teacups from the shelf. He wonders whether she gave him a mug because it holds more or because she’s afraid he’ll drop her fine china. Either reason is valid.  
  
They both sip slowly. It’s quiet for a while.  
  
He thinks of the last time they did this. It was the morning after that first night with Kame, when he was hungover and out of his mind, and she just cleaned up his mess and gave him a cup of coffee. He berated himself, he squirmed and promised and tried to smooth things over, but all silently. He didn’t tell her a thing. And as time went on, he told her less and less. He played perfect and he did everything she wanted him to, and he tried—but he never talked to her, not about anything important. He talked to Kame. In a way, he thinks that was the worst of it. It would have been bad enough if it were just sex, just reaching out for a warm body, but withholding himself from Meisa, giving that to Kame instead—that was the worst thing.  
  
“When did it start?” Meisa asks quietly.  
  
It takes him a moment to realize what she’s talking about. To realize she’s actually  _talking_  about it. To him. They’re talking about this.  
  
He swallows, clears his throat a little. He takes another sip of his tea when it just goes dry again, and a little bit more just to give himself a chance to think.  
  
“Two months ago,” he says. And then he thinks again. “Give or take, I think.”  
  
When did it start? With the sex? With the dreams? Seven years ago, when he left and didn’t come back?  
  
He can see her doing the math in her head, remembering. She nods a little bit, like something makes sense. “Mondays and Thursdays,” she says. It’s not a question, not even an accusation, just a statement of fact. “No wonder you weren’t getting any sleep.”  
  
Jin tilts his mug toward him, watching the pale liquid quiver against the sides.  
  
“Was it…did you have a physical relationship?”  
  
Jin purses his lips and keeps staring hard at the tea in his cup. He knows she has every right to ask, and she probably knows the answer anyway, and he’s done with lying, but he’s not sure exactly how much…detail she wants. Or what she’ll do with it when she gets it. Fortunately she phrased the question as a yes or no, so he figures that’s a good start.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
She nods, not looking at him, both of her hands curled around her teacup, and she seems to be thinking hard. But she doesn’t really seem shocked or surprised by the answer. She already knew. She knew when she saw them together in the hospital room.  
  
She takes a sip from her teacup, then settles it against her knees again, turning it slowly in her fingers.  
  
“Are you in love with him?”  
  
That’s a question he probably should have expected, but somehow it’s completely slipped his mind. Which is amazing, really, because he’s been asking it of himself day and night for the last two weeks.  
  
“I honestly don’t know,” he says, and for the first time he feels like he’s telling the truth. Not that the other stuff wasn’t true, but it was just detail, hovering around the edges of the point. “I thought I was, for a little while. And then…everything happened. And now I don’t know anymore, what came from me and what came from something else. I just…I really don’t know.”  
  
It’s a helpless answer, and he feels helpless. It’s probably not what she wants to hear—or maybe it is. Maybe she wants an out. Maybe he should have just said yes outright and left it at that. Because that might be true, for all he knows. And it shouldn’t be her problem to wait around while he figures out what the real answer is.  
  
“You know the worst thing?” Meisa says after a long moment. She’s staring into her teacup again. “I think I sort of knew.”  
  
Jin looks over at her fully for the first time since she walked into the room. Maybe for the first time in months.  
  
“Not…not who,” she says. “Just…that there was something. Going on. People don’t suddenly start doing the dishes and volunteering for childcare and working strange hours after years of nothing without a reason. I knew there had to be a reason, and I couldn’t find one, but things were working, finally, so I just…stopped looking. Maybe I didn’t want to see.”  
  
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. Then she settles back against the back of her chair, and something relaxes a little past where it was before. She looks up toward the window opposite, where the blinds are drawn against the late afternoon sun. “The who was…a surprise.”  
  
Jin feels a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he says. “Came as kind of a shock to me too, to be honest.”  
  
She glances over at him. It’s barely a reproach, but the smile quickly fades.  
  
“It’s not fair, you know that? Dropping this on me now, like this,” she says in a small voice, gesturing vaguely toward his head. “I don’t even get the chance to be mad at you.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s only then that he realizes he hasn’t actually said that yet. It should have been the first thing out of his mouth.  
  
She nods, taking it in and collecting it with everything else.  
  
“It wasn’t only your fault though.”  
  
Jin blinks, and for a second he wonders if maybe he’s missed something, because he’s pretty damn sure it was  _mostly_  his fault. Okay, brain tumor, weird dreams, a few possible extenuating circumstances, but no—he wasn’t completely out of his mind. Not enough to justify shirking responsibility for his actions, as attractive as that sounds.  
  
“Don’t get me wrong,” she says, her gaze sharpening a little as if she can see straight through him. “I’m not letting you off the hook for what you did—I’m talking about the other stuff. The stuff that was just between us.”  
  
She looks down into her teacup, tilting it toward her a little bit and swirling the dregs. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot over the past couple of weeks, and I think…I was the one who pulled away first. I didn’t mean to—it was just easier that way. Not to fight. I thought I was keeping the peace, but maybe I was just…freezing you out. And if that was part of the reason…”  
  
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jin says firmly. And that much he knows is true. It was part of the reason, of course—if he hadn’t had something to run from, he never would have run to Kame like that—but it was nowhere near being a good enough reason. And there were other reasons too. Reasons that really had nothing to do with Meisa, and definitely weren’t her fault.  
  
“We were both keeping the peace,” he says. “Maybe we did it wrong, and maybe that was part of why—but even if it was, that was my fault too. Things got hard, and I just wanted to make them easy again, somehow. I could have handled things differently, and I chose not to. And I’m really sorry for that.”  
  
Another sorry. He wishes they wouldn’t sound so flat, after the fact.  
  
They sit together in silence again for a while, and it’s a different kind of silence from before. They’re both thinking, but he has a feeling they may be thinking the same thing. There’s no more guesswork, no more trying, no more keeping the peace. The cracks are on the outside now. In a strange way, it’s a relief.  
  
Jin stares around the living room at the apartment they’ve shared for the past five years. He’s had a lot of different apartments in his life—some of them he misses and some of them he doesn’t. This one, he thinks he’ll miss.  
  
He’s not even sure when he knew he was leaving.  
  
“What do you want to do from here?” Meisa asks.  
  
Jin takes another sip of his tea. It’s going cold as he lets it sit, but it’s comforting nonetheless. Still warm, just enough. “What do you think we should do?”  
  
“I think you should rest,” Meisa says on a long exhale. “I think you should get better, and not do any work until you feel like yourself again. I think, when you’re ready, Kana should come home—we should have some time together again while you’re recovering, just the three of us. We should spend the New Year’s holiday together, as a family.”  
  
She sets her teacup down on the table next to her and folds her hands on her knees. “And then,” she says, “when you feel healthy enough, I think you should move out.”  
  
Jin doesn’t say anything. She’s thought of everything, as usual, and she’s right. Not just because of the state of their marriage, but because of the state of his head. He’s only begun to sort out what really happened and why, and he can’t do that where people need and depend on him. He can’t figure out who he is if he’s trying to be what they need him to be. It feels selfish, and he doesn’t want to be selfish, not anymore—but it’s no good if he just goes back to pretending. That won’t help anyone.  
  
He nods quietly.  
  
Meisa still isn’t looking at him. She doesn’t look angry, though she does look a little sad. “We can go into counseling, if you like. We can try to work on things. I want to make sure that none of this hurts Kana any more than necessary.”  
  
“I want that too,” Jin says quickly. At least on that point, they’ve both always been in agreement.  
  
“I know you do,” Meisa nods. “And we’ll figure things out. We won’t let her get caught in the middle. But at least for a while, I think it would be better if we lived apart. So we can both…have some space. To think. To figure out what we want.”  
  
Jin nods again. He can’t stop looking at her. For the past two months he hasn’t been able to look her in the eye—for the past six months, really. Ironically, he suddenly feels lucky to have her as they find their way through this situation. She’s so much better at these things than he is. He tries to imagine what he would have done if he were in her place, and he can’t. He’d like to think he could have been reasonable like she is, not spiteful or childish or vindictive—but he’s always been prone to fits of jealousy, and reasonable has never been his strong suit. If it were, they wouldn’t be in this situation.  
  
“Thank you,” he says, when he thinks he can get his throat to work properly.  
  
Her lips press together in a thin line. “Don’t thank me,” she says. “It’s just the way things have to be.”  
  
They talk a little bit more after that, mostly about logistics. Kana will be coming back at the end of this week, and they’ll have a talk with her to help her understand what’s going on. They don’t want it to come as a surprise. Jin just hopes he’ll be able to figure out what to say to her before then. They’ll share the bed again when Kana comes back, because Kana might be confused if she saw him sleeping on the couch, and anyway it’s better if he gets his rest while he’s still recovering. They can make it work.  
  
Kana falls asleep long before midnight on New Year’s Eve, but they wake her up early to watch the sunrise from the roof of their apartment building. It’s not as clear and impressive as it would have been from the beach or the side of a mountain, but the new light reaches them eventually. As it always must.


	13. Chapter 13

Jin’s place is never exactly tidy, but it never ceases to amaze him how much messier it gets after a weekend with Kana. Within hours of her arrival, somehow everything explodes in pinks and purples. He doesn’t even know where it all comes from—all she brings is a tiny overnight bag. She keeps a few toys and daily essentials like shampoo and hairbrushes at his place, but not enough to carpet the entire floor. He plucks a pale pink t-shirt off the lampshade next to the couch and goes to stuff it into the duffel bag, just catching himself when he realizes it’s actually one of his.  
  
“Come on, kiddo,” he calls in the general direction of the office door. He just manages to swallow a curse when his foot lands on something tiny and sharp. Bending down, he picks up what looks like a microscopically small stiletto.  
  
He’s not sure which doll it goes with, but it’s definitely not his. He drops it into the duffel.  
  
“We’ve got to get going. You almost ready?”  
  
“Coming!” she calls back from the other room. Her voice is slightly muffled, and when he goes to see why he finds her squirming around underneath the foldout couch. Only black leggings and a pair of bright pink socks are visible.  
  
“What are you looking for?”  
  
“My aqua jumper.”  
  
“Are you sure you brought it?”  
  
“Yes,” she says in that slightly tart tone she’s been adopting recently. If she were Pi, she’d be calling him “Bakanishi” right now. Jin hopes it’s a phase.  
  
“Have you checked all through your bag?”  
  
“ _Yes_ , Daddy.”  
  
Jin gives a silent sigh. He really hopes it’s a phase.  
  
“Well come on out of there and let me fold up the couch. If it’s there, we’ll find it.”  
  
They spend another twenty minutes checking between cushions and behind the desk, before Jin finally sneaks over and double-checks the duffel bag, where he finds the jumper stuffed into a side pocket. He resists the urge to gloat and rub it in her face, because he’s a good dad and she cheers up again now that they’ve found it, and anyway they have to go.  
  
She’s gotten taller in the last six months. He can feel the difference in the angle when she walks alongside him down the street holding his hand. Of course, she’s been getting taller for the last five years, but he feels like he notices it more now. Maybe because he doesn’t see her every day anymore. Each one slips away a little faster.  
  
They’ve been slipping away particularly quickly just lately. When he and Meisa first separated he was still on medical hiatus—the album immediately went on the back burner, of course, and once Meisa’s work schedule eased up they both cleared some time to adjust to the new situation, and help Kana adjust too. He went over to watch her at the apartment on their usual days, just to keep things as normal as possible, even though he was going back to his own place at night. But he stayed long enough to put her to bed most nights and tell her a story, and that seemed to help. Soon she was interested in seeing his new place, and he started bringing her over to his apartment on his days. Their “hangout days,” they called them.  
  
That all worked while he was still on hiatus, but now work has been picked up again, and Kana has started kindergarten. Lately he’s only gotten to see her on the weekends, though Meisa occasionally invites him over for dinner as well, and lets him stay to put her to bed. When he thinks about how he used to resist sacrificing his lazy workday routine to watch her, he wants to call himself a Bakanishi. Now he’s rescheduling meetings left and right just to make time for her whenever he can manage it.  
  
He’s never been particularly good at knowing a good thing while he’s got it.  
  
Meisa greets them both with a smile when she opens the door, scooping Kana up for a hug. It’s not even particularly awkward anymore when she invites him in. He’s over here often enough, and awkwardness would be difficult to maintain. It took them a while to figure out where the new boundaries were supposed to go, but now they’ve found a comfortable politeness. It’s hardly close, but at least it works. At least they can talk to each other now. That’s better than they did when they were still living together.  
  
“I think it’s mostly ads,” she says as she hands him a stack of mail from the kitchen counter, “but I figured you’d want to look it over anyway. Do you want coffee?”  
  
Jin nods and mumbles his thanks as he skims through the small collection of envelopes. It’s tapering off, but as Akanishi is still the name on the door he imagines it will be a while before it stops. If it ever does.  
  
He tosses a few envelopes into the recycling unopened, then slides his finger underneath the flap of one from his bank. They keep sending duplicates of everything to both addresses, even statements for the account that’s only his—he’s been meaning to call them about it, but he hasn’t gotten around to it yet. This one is just an ad for some kind of bill pay service though anyway—it joins the others in the recycling.  
  
Meisa hands him a steaming cup, and he thanks her. She takes a seat at the kitchen table, and he sticks the rest of the mail in his pocket and joins her, settling slightly awkwardly and taking a sip of his coffee. She’s reaching for a black leather folder sitting at the edge of the table, flipping through a set of papers. Most of them he’s seen before.  
  
“They sent them over the other day,” she says, finding what she’s looking for and placing it flat on the table. It’s only a few sheets thick. Seems lightweight for the purpose. “I spoke to them about the insurance question, they said it shouldn’t be a problem to get the name changed.”  
  
Jin nods as he pulls the documents towards him. He’s skimming them, but he’s not really reading them. He already knows what they say.  
  
“You can take your time, if you want,” she says, giving him a slightly stretched little smile. “Just let them know if anything looks wrong. You can return them whenever you get a chance. Just…let me know, will you? When you’ve signed.”  
  
Meisa’s tidy signature is already there on the bottom of each page. As always, he’s left most of the details up to her. It was easier than he’d thought it would be to divvy everything up. Even this was quiet, though for once it was a relief instead of a burden. Maybe quiet is just what happens when a marriage falls apart on its own.  
  
“Do you have a pen?”  
  
She looks surprised for a moment—but then she reaches into the folder again and pulls out a heavy black ball-point with the logo of Kobayashi & Kato on the side. Hands it over.  
  
He doesn’t really hesitate, just scribbles his name on the lines as indicated by the lawyer’s cheerful little arrow stickers. Then he reaches into his wallet and pulls out his seal. Carefully stamps the last page.  
  
They both stare at it for a moment. Then Jin takes a sip of his coffee, and Meisa gathers up the papers, putting them safely back into the leather folder.  
  
“I’ll have them filed on Monday,” she says, wrapping her hands around her own coffee cup.  
  
Jin nods. “Thanks.” He takes another sip. He can hear a clock ticking somewhere, and it seems strange, because he doesn’t remember any analog clocks in the kitchen. He glances around until he locates it—a pretty little blue piece over in the corner next to the fridge. There used to be a little plaque there from some food game show contest he won years ago, kind of a joke. It’s hanging in his kitchen now. Seems like every time he comes here he finds something new, filling in the gaps.  
  
“Oh,” Meisa says, “that reminds me—would you be able to pick up Kana on Tuesday and stay with her through the evening? I had a babysitter lined up, but she fell through.”  
  
Jin nods quickly. “Of course. I’d love to. Why, is it something special?”  
  
Meisa looks a bit caught, and he realizes he’s bumped into one of those boundaries they’ve been establishing. Old habits. Still hard to get past them sometimes.  
  
“Sorry,” he says. “None of my business.”  
  
“No, it’s okay, it’s—I—have a date.”  
  
Ah. Jin takes a sip of his coffee and waits for the pang of…something. Jealousy, maybe. Awkwardness. Guilt. But it doesn’t come. In a weird way, he sort of feels relieved. At least maybe this means he hasn’t totally torpedoed her faith in people in general, or men in particular. Not that he really thinks he could ever do that to her even if he tried, but, well. He’s wondered.  
  
“That’s great,” he says, and he hopes it sounds like he means it, because he really does. Meisa’s smile is a little bit amused, and he catches himself fidgeting with his coffee cup when he accidentally tugs the handle too hard and a few drops splash out and burn his thumb. She passes him a napkin from the holder while he’s shaking his hand from the sting, and he carefully mops up the little spill.  
  
“Anyone I know?” he asks, because what else are you supposed to ask when your very-nearly-ex-wife tells you that she’s going on her first date since you took a blowtorch to your crumbling relationship?  
  
She shakes her head over her mug, and doesn’t seem bothered by the question, which is also good. “I don’t think so,” she says. “He’s a script supervisor for NTV.”  
  
Yeah, probably not. He sort of backed out of the acting game when he realized it was never going to be his strong suit, so he hasn’t had much to do with script supervisors anywhere for the past few years. “That’s good,” he says, nodding. And then realizes how that could sound and fumbles a bit. “I mean, that you’re going out—not that I don’t know him. I mean, it’s fine that I don’t know him—it doesn’t matter either way. I’m just the babysitter.”  
  
He winces over that last bit. It could sound petulant, and that’s not what he’s going for, it’s just—he’s filling space. He tries to think of something else to smooth over the smoothing over that won’t end up making it worse, but then he notices Meisa is still smiling and decides to shut up instead. Sometimes silence isn’t such a bad thing.  
  
“How about you?” Meisa asks after a few moments.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
She takes a sip of her coffee and sets it down in front of her, arranging it carefully with her fingertips. “Are you seeing anyone?”  
  
To an outside observer it would sound like ordinary curiosity, neither loaded nor pointed. The truth is, Jin hasn’t seen much of anyone at all in the past six months, except Josh in the studios, Pi when he’s not on location or touring, and his psychotherapist on Wednesday afternoons. And Kana, of course. And sometimes Meisa.  
  
But none of those people are who she’s asking about.  
  
He smiles, but even to him it feels a bit stiff. He shakes his head and takes another sip of his coffee, hoping that will smooth it out.  
  
“Nope,” he says. “It’s just me.”  
  
Meisa invites him to stay for dinner, and he happily accepts. Apparently it’s meatloaf night, which is nice. Meisa’s meatloaf was always excellent. Jin and Kana tell Meisa about their afternoon at the zoo the day before, and the giant toucan plushie he bought her (which, he silently reassures Meisa across the table, will remain at his apartment). Meisa does the dishes while he puts Kana to bed.  
  
After she’s all changed into fluffy pajamas and tucked up with the covers wrapped around her shoulders, her small hand curls around his first two fingers and holds on. She used to do that when she was tiny, trying to keep him there until she fell asleep. She’s started doing it again lately.  
  
He reaches over with his free hand and brushes her hair away from her face. Just stays. He can stay as long as she needs him to.  
  
“You didn’t tell me,” she mumbles sleepily, cutting off with a yawn that makes her eyes close.  
  
“What’s that?” he prompts, smiling a little when he sees her eyes flutter under the lids, like she’s trying to find the switch to get them open again.  
  
“The turtle story,” she pouts, and she snuggles a little deeper into the pillow. Still holding on. “How does it end?”  
  
Jin looks at her for a long time, watching her shoulders rise and fall underneath the covers. Maybe someday he’ll be able to tell her the whole story. After she’s grown up and has a family of her own, and he and Meisa are in their dotage and none of it can hurt anyone or change anything anymore. Well, maybe not the  _whole_  story. But the parts that matter.  
  
For now, there’s nothing he can tell her that she doesn’t already know.  
  
“Some other time,” he promises. “It’s late.”  
  
She nods against the pillow but doesn’t complain, and her fingers squeeze his a little bit, just for a moment. He stays right where he is until she’s asleep.  
  
Once her fingers loosen around his and he manages to gently wiggle himself free without resistance, he gets to his feet and slips out of the room. He can hear the sink running in the kitchen, dishes clinking quietly against the wooden slats of the drainer.  
  
“She’s down for the night,” Jin says, resting his shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “Snoring like an old man by the time I left.”  
  
“Great,” Meisa says, tossing him a smile over her shoulder as she wipes her hands on a dishcloth. When she starts putting away the glasses that are sitting upturned in the drainer, Jin moves forward to help. She gives him a look that almost makes him stop—boundaries, they’re tricky things—but then she smiles again and reaches for another glass, and he figures it’s okay. Today feels pretty much like yesterday and the day before that, even though there’s a stack of papers in the corner that say they’re not married anymore, and he hasn’t lived in this apartment in months. They’re both still Kana’s parents, and that means something, and he can still put away glasses in Kana’s house, and help put Kana to bed.  
  
He wonders how things would have been if Kana hadn’t been around. If they would have screamed and thrown things when it all fell apart. If they would have stayed together long enough for him to ruin it in the first place. If they would have just gone their separate ways with their grudges and happy memories intact, uncomplicated by reality, and never seen or spoken to each other again.  
  
It’s better this way, he thinks. Of all the other viable options, this is the best. Though not necessarily the easiest.  
  
“Thanks again,” she says, picking up the towel to wipe off a plate that isn’t completely dry yet. “About Tuesday. I know it’s sort of last minute.”  
  
He shakes his head quickly and grabs a handful of silverware, sorting them into the drawer. “It’s totally fine,” he says, and it really is. He hates not seeing her for so long between weekends. He’ll have to reschedule Josh, and Josh will whine at him, but that doesn’t matter—it’s just a dinner meeting, not a studio session or anything. “She can stay overnight if you want—I can drop her off at school in the morning. Just in case you—” Whoops. Massive boundary. “If that would be easier. I mean, then you don’t have to carry her home or anything if she passes out on my couch.”  
  
Meisa smiles. Only hesitates a little bit before she nods. “Okay. Thanks. If you don’t mind, that would be great.”  
  
Great. Well, that’ll be easier anyway. Avoid the awkward moment when she has to swing by his place and chat with him about parent stuff immediately after being on a date with another guy. He knows what that’s like.  
  
Maybe it’s different when it’s allowed. Maybe it doesn’t feel quite so weird.  
  
He finishes putting away the silverware. Meisa is already wiping down the last glass, so there’s nothing for him to do with his hands. It’s time for him to go anyway. Get out of her way.  
  
“I’ll let you know when I hear back from the lawyers,” she says as she walks him to the door. “When everything’s official.”  
  
He nods as he steps into his shoes, straightening out the heels of his sneakers with an index finger. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”  
  
“Do you want an umbrella for the walk?” she asks, glancing out the door over his shoulder. “Looks like it’s starting to rain.”  
  
He can hear it, just a quiet patter on the pavement, but he glances back as well. It’s not too bad. “I’ll be fine.” He smiles briefly, tugs his hood up over his head and zips up the rest of the way. “It’s not that far.”  
  
It’s quiet out on the streets, but the rain makes it smell fresh. The hoodie isn’t exactly made for rain, and he gets wet even as he shrugs down into it and keeps his pace brisk, but it’s not that bad. And he doesn’t have far to go.  
  
The rain picks up just as he’s turning onto his street, and he jogs the last half-block, big fat drops hitting him in the face as he hurries to get undercover. He drags the damp hood off his head as he reaches his door and gets out his keys, a few locks of hair sticking to the rain on his cheeks. When he lets himself in, he slips off his shoes and puts them on top of the rack to dry, hangs up the hoodie over the back of a chair to spread it out a little more.  
  
It’s quiet. A little emptier, now that Kana’s not here.  
  
He flips on the overhead light, and chuckles to himself, because even if she’s gone there are still scraps of her everywhere—the couch is in disarray, and there’s a glittery hairbrush sticking up like a booby-trap between the cushions, a few items of clothing lying around, like the spare sweatshirt she keeps in the small dresser in his office, and one small cozy slipper. Its mate is on the shoe rack, next to the light-up sneakers he bought her that Meisa thinks are obnoxious. Kana thinks they’re cool.  
  
He tidies things up a little, not a lot. Finishes putting the cushions back on the foldout in the office and puts Kana’s things back in the dresser. He checks email, and there’s one from Josh, one from Ryo, and a bunch from some politician who is apparently desperate for support even though it’s not really the season for that. He deletes the spam and skims the others, but he marks them as new again, deciding to deal with them later. He thinks about calling Josh about Tuesday, but it’s nearly midnight and it’s Sunday, so he’s probably either drunk or asleep right now.  
  
Jin brushes his teeth and changes into pajamas, and finally puts himself to bed.  
  
He still sleeps on his stomach on the same side of the bed as always. He could spread out if he wanted—the whole bed is his. No reason to worry about kicking anyone in the middle of the night, or getting a retaliatory punch in the back. A grumble about Bakanishis and their stupid sleeping habits. But he doesn’t spread out. It’s cold over there. Sometimes even just a leg wanders over by accident, and it feels cold almost at once. Empty.  
  
He can feel himself starting to think, so he curls in on himself a little and tries to listen to the rain beating out its steady rhythm against his window. It helps. He starts running over his schedule for tomorrow, trying to remember whether he set his alarm properly. For a little while he starts editing lyrics in his head, but then he stops that because if he thinks of anything good he’ll just have to sit up and write it down, and he’s finally getting sleepy. There’s a song in his head then, a soft acoustic, and it’s one of the ones he’s already finished and recorded, so he doesn’t have to worry about editing it because he can’t change it anyway. And he doesn’t really want to. It’s perfect just the way it is.  
  
Finally, he sleeps.  
  
*      *      *  
  
He’s been putting this off for a long time.  
  
His therapist calls it “avoidance,” which he thinks is a rather obvious and useless description. She says it’s a pattern in his behavior, and that if he wants to overcome it he’ll have to confront that eventually and make a conscious decision to behave differently. Which he thinks is pretty unhelpful advice for someone whose problem is avoiding things. Apparently the cure for avoidance is to stop avoiding things.  
  
Ah well. At least his insurance still covers the sessions, so it’s not like they’re costing him any money.  
  
He reaches for one of the napkins in the holder at the end of the booth and starts tearing it into long, careful strips. There’s baseball on the TVs overhead as usual, but he’s not paying attention to them. That stuff bores him even when his head isn’t a mess and his stomach isn’t a giant ball of nerves. He could play games on his phone, but for some reason his hands want to do something more tactile. If equally pointless.  
  
The bartender is the same woman who was here the first time he came. She remembered him, but then again she was the only one who recognized him the first time too, so that probably doesn’t mean anything. Six months is a long time.  
  
Seven years is longer. But six months is long.  
  
The door opens and Jin holds his breath.  
  
The guy is in his forties, dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase. Looks like someone who’s just gotten off of a long day of doing something boring. Not the person Jin is waiting for.  
  
He tears another long strip off of the napkin and starts folding it over and over in triangles. When he runs out of room and the little strip is all rolled up into one tiny, slightly pudgy triangle, he sets it up with his fingers like an American football at the kickoff and flicks it. It bounces against the backrest of the empty booth opposite.  
  
When he hears the door open again, Jin looks up. This time he sort of holds his breath too late, when he’s just exhaled. Has to remind himself to breathe in again quick, or else he’ll pass out, and that’s really not how he wants to begin this conversation. This time there’s no briefcase, no suit. Just a pair of dark jeans that fit like they were custom made (and who knows, maybe they were), and a black t-shirt with a faded gray logo on the front. The sunglasses hide his eyes, and he turns to the bar before he takes them off, so Jin’s not even sure if he’s seen him. He thought so, but it’s hard to tell.  
  
When Kame turns back from the bar, he gives Jin a small, casual smile and a little wave, and it’s like the first time they met here all over again.  _Hey. It’s been awhile. How are things?_  Polite. Cool. Distant.  
  
When the bartender passes him his beer, Kame thanks her and brings it over to the table, taking the seat opposite Jin with one hand in his pocket.  
  
They cover the weather in pretty thorough detail. Come to a consensus on the subject of rain, and how they’re glad it finally stopped a few days ago. Apparently the bonsai on Kame’s balcony got so waterlogged he had to bring it into the kitchen. Jin remembers Kame’s kitchen. Kame explains how there’s a little ledge by the window over the sink as if Jin’s never been there before. That’s where he put the bonsai.  
  
“How have you been?” Kame asks finally when there’s a lull. Jin doesn’t have any plant stories. Kame is fingering his glass, and his expression still doesn’t reveal any more than polite interest in the health of an old friend, though Jin thinks his voice is a little quieter.  
  
“I’m good,” he says. “The recovery was kind of a breeze, considering.” Well. That’s not strictly true. But most of the things that made it difficult had very little to do with the surgery. “It could have been a lot worse. I still have to have regular scans for the next few months, and probably once a year for the foreseeable future, but it’s not so bad.”  
  
Kame nods. “Yamapi told me,” he says. “He’s been keeping me posted on everything. I thought it would probably be better if I didn’t contact you directly.”  
  
Jin’s heart sinks a little. He’s not even sure why, because it’s silly. Would it have been better to think Kame had just forgotten to call him? That it hadn’t been a conscious choice? That he hadn’t cared enough to bother finding out if Jin was okay, keep up with how things were going? “Oh,” he says. “Yeah. I guess that’s probably true. I mean, that’s why I didn’t…you know.”  
  
Kame nods. “Yeah. I know. Don’t worry about it—it’s not a problem.”  
  
Yamapi. Jin didn’t think of going through him. Might have been nice not to go into this conversation blind. Then again, he hadn’t even known the two of them were still in touch, so it wouldn’t have occurred to him anyway.  
  
“How’s Meisa?” Kame says. He even gives it a little smile. Easy. Just catching up. Jin’s heart sinks even further.  
  
“She’s good,” he says, trying not to let his disappointment show. “She’s just started seeing someone, actually.”  
  
Kame’s brow twitches as he blinks. “For what?”  
  
Jin blinks back at him. “What do you mean?”  
  
Kame’s giving him a strange look now. He seems a bit wrong-footed, and maybe not quite as cool and steady as Jin thought he was a moment ago. And…okay. Interesting. Maybe Pi hasn’t been keeping him posted on  _everything_.  
  
“She’s dating someone,” Jin clarifies.  
  
When Kame just keeps staring at him, nonplussed, Jin purses his lips and starts fidgeting with his glass, turning it against the tabletop.  
  
“We’re divorced,” he says. “Or, at least we will be. I’m not sure exactly when it’s all completely official, but we signed the papers last week. She filed them, I think. With the lawyers. We’re just waiting for the confirmation. She said she’d let me know when she heard back. I don’t know how long these things usually take.”  
  
Jin runs out of pointless details and the silence takes over. Maybe he should tell that dumb golfer joke the lawyer’s assistant told them in the waiting room when they were there for the initial consultation. It’s not funny, but if he sells it just right it could at least break the tension.  
  
“You’re divorced?” Kame says. His voice is very quiet.  
  
Jin nods. Musters the courage to plow ahead. “It was a mutual decision. Turns out we make a much better couple when we’re not actually a couple. Also,” he drops his eyes to his beer glass, “there was the small problem of me being in love with someone else.”  
  
Kame doesn’t say anything. Jin lifts the glass and takes a long sip. It doesn’t do much good though, because by the time he looks up again Kame is still staring at him like he’s not quite sure he heard that right. When he just keeps staring, Jin starts to wonder if maybe he actually said it wrong.  
  
And then suddenly Kame’s face breaks apart, and there’s a sort of helpless grin wrestling with his mystified frown, and cool is nowhere in sight. He tries to hide in his beer, but his eyes keep darting around. He looks like he’s just woken up in the middle of filming and realized he’s been reading from the wrong script.  
  
He puts his glass down on the table and scrubs his hands over his face, laughing a little, apparently at himself.  
  
“I thought you were here to let me down easy,” he mumbles between his palms. “Just to make sure I didn’t have the wrong idea.”  
  
Jin grins and glances down at his hands, and his body feels lighter. The whole room feels lighter just because Kame’s smiling.  
  
“That…wasn’t the plan,” Jin says. “I was actually kind of hoping maybe we could pick things up where we left off. Except, you know, without all the sneaking around. But then you were all cool, and I figured you were trying to brush me off.”  
  
Kame kicks him in the shin, and Jin winces inwards in surprise. “What was that for?” he grumbles.  
  
“I told you, didn’t I?” Kame says, sliding his hands down and looking Jin in the eye. He’s trying to look stern, but happy keeps slipping out in little bursts. “That’s as close as I’ll ever get to kicking you out.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
They only make it as far as the living room once they get upstairs. There are hands everywhere, finding skin they haven’t touched in far too long, and Kame laughs into Jin’s mouth when Jin gets his belt loop caught on the end table on the way to the couch and stumbles against him, dragging Kame down on top of him. All the stuff is in the bedroom, but neither one of them wants to get up. When Kame’s hand closes around him Jin pulls him down and kisses him, hands tangling in his hair. And then he laughs again and strokes his fingers down Kame’s warm back just because he can, because he’s trapped between Kame’s familiar weight and the couch cushions and he doesn’t have to leave, doesn’t have to apologize, doesn’t have to feel guilty. He can just be here. He can just be happy.  
  
Kame swallows his own name on Jin’s lips when he makes Jin come, and Jin knows he’s happy too. He can feel it everywhere.  
  
Kame sighs against him as they curl up together afterwards, sweaty skin cooling in the warm glow of the table lamp.  
  
“I think I’d better get this couch cleaned before my next cocktail party,” Kame mumbles against his chest. His eyes are closed, but he’s smiling.  
  
“Might want to do the throw pillows too,” Jin suggests, tugging one out of the way and tossing it aside to give them a little more elbow room. Not that they particularly need it at the moment.  
  
“Did you get come on my pillows?” Kame accuses with a frown.  
  
“Depends on how you look at it,” Jin replies. He brushes a hand low on Kame’s back and grins when the frown disintegrates into a sleepy giggle.  
  
“Ah. Well at the very least you were an accessory.”  
  
“What’s the penalty for that?”  
  
Kame lifts his head and grins up at him. His face is still flushed from orgasm, his eyes hazy and bright, and Jin stretches a little against him, just to see the grin spread.  
  
“Hm,” Kame considers, lower lip caught between his teeth. “Two to four years?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. “You’re too easy on me. It’s got to be at least ten.”  
  
“Or twenty,” Kame says. “And who knows, if you repeat the offense, you might be put away for life.”  
  
“I can live with that.” Jin runs a hand up the length of Kame’s spine and brushes fingertips over the nape of his neck, drawing him down for a soft, warm kiss. “I’m in good company.”  
  
Kame smiles as he kisses him again, and they stay like that for a while. Warm and touching and tangled together like teenagers while the parents are out of town, and not like two grown men who can afford beds and separate apartments, and who until very recently were nothing at all to each other. Nothing real.  
  
When Jin’s stomach growls, he feels Kame’s little chuckle, a light kiss against his chest.  
  
“Late-night snack?” he suggests.  
  
“I’m okay,” Jin lies, because he still sort of doesn’t want to get up. And he definitely doesn’t want Kame to get up and start cooking, because that will probably mean clothes, and it will mean Jin either has to let go of him or risk occasional burns and getting elbowed in the ribs a lot.  
  
Kame’s smile tells him he doesn’t buy it. “We could raid the fridge. I’m sure I’ve got a bunch of leftovers. Actually…I think I’ve got some lasagna in the freezer.”  
  
That gets Jin’s attention. “Still?” Freezers are wondrous inventions, but six months  _is_  a long time.  
  
“Not exactly.” Kame glances down at Jin’s chest, looking sheepish. “I’ve sort of…been practicing.”  
  
Jin’s grin threatens to split his face in half. “You like me.”  
  
Kame pokes him in the ribs. “Shut up,” he says, fighting a smile. “Or I won’t give you any.”  
  
They find boxers and clean up a little, then go into the kitchen to start pulling things out of the fridge. While Kame is heating up a big fat slice of lasagna in the microwave, Jin sneaks a sharpie out of the drawer and starts drawing tiny little hearts in the corners of the piece of masking tape on the top of the lasagna container. It’s dated two weeks ago.  
  
“Cut it out,” Kame giggles, snatching the marker out of Jin’s hand when he notices what he’s doing. “You’re defacing my property.”  
  
“It’s my property,” Jin corrects him, reaching for the marker, but Kame pulls his hand away and backs up. Jin just follows him until he’s trapped against the sink. “My 3 a.m. lasagna.”  
  
Kame opens his mouth to argue, but Jin kisses him instead, and Kame hums a laugh against his tongue. Jin feels Kame’s hand go soft against his shoulder.  
  
Kame hums again when Jin moves on down Kame’s throat, letting his mouth get a little warmer and softer. “Unless you want permanent black marks all down your back,” Kame says distractedly, “you’d better cut that out.”  
  
Jin just holds up the marker cap that’s still in his hand and doesn’t stop. He hears the marker click shut somewhere behind his head, and then it bounces across the floor at their feet and Kame’s arms go around his shoulders.  
  
Jin kisses his mouth one last time after the microwave goes off. Kame sneaks one more after that before he lets him go.  
  
When Jin has his lasagna and Kame has a bowl of shrimp with seasoned spinach, they curl up together on the couch again, this time sitting more or less properly, except that their feet are tangled together on the coffee table. Kame pulls the throw from the back of the couch and spreads it over both of them, and they chat comfortably over their impromptu meal.  
  
“How are the guys?”  
  
Jin keeps his eyes lowered, carefully selecting his next bite of lasagna—but he can feel Kame watching him, eyebrows arched toward his hairline. At least Kame doesn’t have to ask who the guys are.  
  
“They’re fine,” Kame says slowly, like he’s poking at the words carefully to make sure they’re not mined. They both pause for the explosion, but there isn’t one. Jin lets out a small breath.  
  
“I’ve seen Nakamaru a few times,” he says. “And Ueda, once. But I haven’t really spoken to the others since—for a while.”  
  
Kame nods, still watching him like he’s suddenly not sure how conversation is supposed to work anymore. “Well, they’re all doing pretty good. You probably heard Nakamaru got married a couple of years ago.”  
  
Jin nods back, glad they’ve stumbled upon a piece of concrete information he knows what to do with. “Yeah, I heard—I wanted to go to the wedding, but I was out of the country. I’ve met Eri though—she’s really nice. Sort of…perfect for him.”  
  
Kame grins and nods, and Jin feels a little glow, because he can tell Kame knows exactly what he means. “No kidding. If they traded clothes she could fill in for him at rehearsals and we’d never notice.”  
  
Jin grins back. And it’s easier. This is easier too, now that they’re here. Like flipping on a light in a dark room, all the scary goes away.  
  
“I’m pretty sure Nakamaru doesn’t look as good in a sundress though.”  
  
Kame barks a laugh. “No, that’s your specialty, right?”  
  
“Big talk,  _Kazuko_ ,” Jin mutters. “I’m starting to think you must have a cross-dressing-required clause in your contract.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
Jin smirks. “I saw your movie.”  
  
Kame’s face goes a little red. “…Oh.”  
  
“It was really funny,” Jin says. “But I hated every minute of it.”  
  
Kame looks confused, but Jin just takes his time scraping a bite of lasagna off his fork.  
  
“That witty costar of yours with the dirty word games,” he mumbles sheepishly. “You looked really good together.” He glances over at Kame. “Think I was probably the only person who left the theatre feeling like pushing her into a lake. Um…metaphorically, that is.”  
  
Kame’s eyes are really bright, and Jin feels stupid. But he’s also glad he said it.  
  
“You like me,” Kame says.  
  
Jin purses his lips against a smile and turns back to his lasagna. “Shut up.”  
  
They talk for a long time, mostly about the past six months. Jin tells Kame about Kana starting school, about the divorce, about therapy and the annoying follow-up visits to the hospital. All the stuff that was off-limits before isn’t off-limits anymore. It’s a little bit scary how good it feels. How comfortable it feels, even after all this time.  
  
“You’re staying right?” Kame asks. They’ve long since finished their food, and the conversation is drifting with the occasional sleepy silence as they lean against each other.  
  
Jin nods against the back of the couch, suppressing a yawn. “Yeah. If that’s okay.”  
  
“Don’t make me kick you in the shins again,” Kame says with a sleepy laugh.  
  
“I’m just asking,” Jin grins.  
  
It takes a few more minutes before Kame musters the initiative to get up and go brush his teeth. Jin doesn’t have a toothbrush with him and Kame doesn’t have a spare, but Jin borrows his mouthwash and rinses out at least. When he gets back to the bedroom, Kame is already crawling under the covers. Jin slides in from the other side, and they meet in the middle.  
  
Kame just looks at him for a little while. Reaches out and brushes Jin’s hair back from his face, and the gesture is so tender and strangely familiar that it takes Jin by surprise. Jin remembers him doing the same thing, months ago. Right after he brought Jin back from the hospital, when Jin couldn’t remember a thing and Kame let him have the bed to himself. He brushed Jin’s hair back from his face, and instead of being grossed out by the three-days-without-a-shower grime, he offered to wash it for him.  
  
“I think they were real,” Jin says quietly. He’s had months to think about it. And no matter what his therapist says about sublimation and wish fulfillment and the fact that Quantum Leap is just a TV show, he always comes back to the same conclusion. “The dreams.”  
  
Kame’s confusion melts into a humoring smile. “Jin…”  
  
“No, seriously, hear me out,” Jin says, before Kame can dismiss the idea. “What if it was like…like a parallel timeline or something? Because everything was the same, right up to that day when I left—and you said yourself that you would have asked me to stay if I’d come back, and who knows what would have happened then.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kame says reasonably, “but I said that  _after_  you’d already told me that was what happened. In your dreams. Or whatever.”  
  
“What, so you’re saying it wasn’t true?”  
  
Kame frowns. “No, I don’t mean that exactly—it’s just…”  
  
He sighs, giving Jin a look like he wishes they didn’t always have to start conversations about Jin’s crazy in the middle of the night when he’s on the verge of passing out. “You  _really_  think you were traveling to an alternate universe in your sleep?”  
  
“It’s not impossible,” Jin says with a little shrug.  
  
Kame doesn’t look impressed. “I’m pretty sure it actually is completely, one-hundred-percent, scientifically impossible.”  
  
“That’s what you say about ghosts.”  
  
“Oh god,” Kame groans, rolling to his back and throwing an arm across his forehead, “not this conversation again.”  
  
“Seriously though,” Jin says, shifting up onto an elbow and following him. “You don’t know. It was so real.”  
  
“Yes, okay, but that doesn’t mean—”  
  
“Okay, then explain how I knew about the apartment.”  
  
Kame gives him a curious look from around his elbow. “How you knew about what apartment?”  
  
Ha! Logic. Jin can do logic too, sometimes. “When we came back here that first night,” he explains. He feels wide awake now, and it seems he’s finally got Kame’s attention, so he doesn’t want to waste it. “The second I saw the place, I recognized it. And I’d never been here before, right? But I knew it—every nook and cranny of it, I swear, even the blue walls, and the stripy towels in the bathroom, and the missing plants in the corner.”  
  
“Missing plants?”  
  
“They were in the dreams,” Jin says. “In the dreams, this was where we lived, together. And some of the furniture and stuff was different, but the apartment was exactly the same.”  
  
Kame’s frown deepens. “Are you messing with me?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. “I swear.”  
  
Kame still looks suspicious, but he turns his frown on the ceiling again, settling his hands over his stomach. He doesn’t exactly look convinced, but he seems to be having more trouble coming up with a proper counterargument. And fair enough—how do you argue with missing plants from a parallel universe?  
  
“Well,” he mumbles, “I still say it’s improbable at best.”  
  
“Improbable,” Jin grins, leaning in a little bit and sliding a hand over Kame’s torso underneath the covers. “I can live with improbable.”  
  
“Like, super improbable,” Kame clarifies, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips, and he’s shifting a little bit into Jin’s touch. “So improbable that the chances are infinitesimal.”  
  
Jin kisses him and nods so that their noses bump. “Mm-hm. Infinitesimal.”  
  
“Basically statistically impossible,” Kame breathes as his fingers curl in Jin’s hair, and Jin’s pretty sure neither of them are listening to what he’s saying anymore. Because the truth is, it doesn’t really matter whether or not it’s impossible. Jin doesn’t care about possible. He doesn’t care about dreams or timelines or quantum universes or missing plants. In the end, it doesn’t matter whether it was real or not.  
  
This is real. Kame here in this bed, and Jin sleeping beside him. And when Jin wakes up, Kame will be here too.  
  
Jin is happy with that.


	14. Epilogue

It’s becoming almost familiar by now, this whole routine. Quiet hums and beeps. Kind faces and white coats in and out every half hour or so. Condition stable. No change. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine. All we can do now is wait and see.  
  
This is not the kind of place Kame has ever wanted to become familiar with.  
  
He knew something was wrong the moment he heard Jin shuffle into the kitchen behind him. Between the party and the…afterparty, they had both been utterly exhausted by the time they finally went to sleep. Even Kame had slept in until ten, only getting up when a niggling idea for the binder just wouldn’t let him fall back to sleep again. He’d let Jin sleep in past noon while he broke the work embargo, sorted through some notes, and prepared a late breakfast. When he was just about to go wake him, he turned around and saw Jin standing there in the doorway, pale and confused and terrified, like he had no idea where he was. Jin didn’t even seem to hear him when Kame asked if he was okay. When Jin’s legs suddenly collapsed out from under him, Kame dropped the soup spoon in his rush to get under him before his head hit the floor.  
  
Now, here they are again. The hospital, the bed, the steady beat of the heart monitor. Kame keeps Jin’s fingers warm between his hands, watching Jin’s sleeping face for any signs of change. Nothing yet.  
  
The tumor was congenital, apparently. It had been in Jin’s head since birth, though it had been completely asymptomatic until recently. The doctor speculated that symptoms of the tumor’s early growth might have contributed to Jin’s accident two months ago—though it’s impossible to know for sure, with Jin’s memory as it is. When Kame asked why they didn’t find anything after all those scans, why they kept saying everything was okay when  _clearly_  it wasn’t, the doctor calmly explained that they’d been operating under the assumption that Jin’s symptoms were the result of the fall, not the other way around. Without any evidence of an internal cause, they had performed only CT scans to inspect the damage from the accident. An MRI would have revealed the tumor.  
  
Kame still finds this answer unsatisfactory. Rationally, he understands that even medicine is not an exact science, and they had had no way of knowing that Jin’s headaches were the result of anything more than the obvious dent in his forehead. Emotionally, however, he thinks the doctors should have performed every fucking test under the sun before they even thought about letting Jin out of their sight. Just to make sure. Because it’s  _Jin_.  
  
Still, the doctor says they caught it in time. It was benign. The surgery went well, no complications. His vitals are strong. Jin should be awake again in the next couple of hours.  
  
That was what the doctor said the last time too, but Kame tries not to think about that. Jin will wake up soon, and he’ll be fine. Jin will definitely wake up.  
  
The clock moves more slowly here than anywhere else, Kame finds. Those three awful days he spent here two months ago felt like about a week and a half. Now he’s almost starting to get used to it, weirdly. He feels calmer this time. Zen.  
  
Though a psychologist would probably call it “denial.” Kame likes zen better.  
  
There’s a book in his bag, sitting over on the table in the corner. He tried to read during the surgery, but that didn’t go well. By the time the doctor came out to tell him everything was okay, somehow he had ended up two chapters earlier than where he’d started. And he couldn’t even remember the title, much less what he’d been reading about. But maybe he should try again now, anyway. He’ll drive himself crazy if he just sits here watching the clock.  
  
He knows from experience.  
  
He still doesn’t move though—just pulls Jin’s hand up to his lips and kisses his knuckles, rubbing a little over the back of his wrist. Jin’s hands get cold so easily, especially when he lies still. He must have poor circulation.  
  
Somewhere between his hands, a muscle that isn’t Kame’s twitches.  
  
He sits up a little straighter, looking from Jin’s hand in his up to Jin’s face. There’s nothing, no movement, and still that steady beat, and he’s just starting to think he’s imagined it, starting in on the hallucination phase a day or two early when something twitches again. This time it’s Jin’s cheek, a slight squint to his eyes accompanied by a deeper breath, and he can hear it reflected in the heart monitor too, or maybe that’s just his own heart pounding in his ears.  
  
 _I told you he’d be alright_ , his zen alter-ego murmurs smugly into his mind, and Kame doesn’t even care. He’s just glad he was right.  
  
He watches as Jin slowly drifts to the surface, watches his eyes flutter around a bit before they find their way to open. A little drifty and dazed, but nowhere near as scary as that look he had right before he passed out in their kitchen. When his eyes find Kame, still struggling for focus, his lips curve a little bit.  
  
“So I guess I missed the encore,” Jin mumbles sleepily.  
  
Kame smiles and pats his hand a little. Back to interesting medication land again. Kame had better hide the grapefruit.  
  
“How bad was the fall?”  
  
This strikes Kame as an odd part of the incident to focus on, all things considered—but he supposes that’s what makes interesting medication interesting. “Not bad,” he says. “I caught you this time.”  
  
Jin’s brow rumples, half bemused, half impressed. “You caught me. From a fifteen-foot scaffolding?”  
  
Kame blinks. From a—what? Okay, now he’s a little bit scared again, because…because it’s supposed to be okay now, and he doesn’t want to…he can’t do that again. It’s supposed to be  _okay_.  
  
He tries to keep his breath steady, just stay calm. Zen. Because Jin  _is_  okay, and that’s what counts, and whatever is happening now, they can figure this out. They  _can_  figure this out. “What are you—”  
  
And then he stops.  
  
Because that’s when it clicks: The encore. The fall.  
  
The scaffolding.  
  
“Jin,” Kame breathes, “are you talking about the concert?”  
  
Jin’s looking at Kame like he’s the one who must be on something. “Yeah. What, did I miss something else?”  
  
Kame’s heart is in his throat. He feels his hands tightening around Jin’s, and he’s a little worried he might be crushing Jin’s fingers, but Jin’s not complaining and there are more important things to worry about right now. “Jin…do you remember?”  
  
“Remember what?”  
  
“Everything. All of…us, together. Me.”  
  
Jin’s eyes are coming into focus, and he’s looking a little worried now too. “Of course I remember you. Why wouldn’t I remember you?”  
  
Kame swallows, trying not to hope too hard, but it’s not working. He’s hoping as hard as he’s ever hoped in his entire fucking life. “Do you remember what you said to me right before we went onstage?”  
  
Jin gives a soft, lopsided smile and glances down at their joined hands. “Of course I remember,” he murmurs. “You said you needed a vacation, and I told you I’d take you to Paris to eat snails when everything settled d—”  
  
Kame is out of the chair before Jin even finishes, swallowing the rest of Jin’s sentence with a kiss. He has to be careful not to just fall on top of him, not to jostle him too much, and Jin’s lips are a little clumsy, caught off-guard, but they’re warm and familiar and smiling, and there’s a little puff of air from his nose, and he remembers. He  _remembers_.  
  
“Hey,” Jin says as Kame settles back. Jin’s hand is wrapped loosely around Kame’s wrist, keeping his palm close to his cheek. “You should’ve told me.”  
  
“Told you what?”  
  
“If I’d known you were that crazy about snails, I would’ve taken you years ago.”  
  
Kame grins back and strokes Jin’s cheek with his fingertips, and he wants to cry because years ago.  _Years_  ago. “It’s not the snails I’m crazy about, idiot,” he says. And then he kisses Jin again, because he can’t quite keep from crying.  
  
*      *      *  
  
The doctor is at a loss to explain the sudden and near-complete recovery of Jin’s memories. While amnesia is not uncommon in association with head injuries, sudden recovery of one’s previously lost memories after brain surgery is  _very_  uncommon. Moreover, according to the doctor, all of Jin’s tests over the past few days spent under observation in the hospital seem to reflect the brain of someone just recovering from a two-month coma, and not someone who has been up and around all that time, eating lasagna and avoiding grapefruit.  
  
“I’m a miracle,” Jin says, snuggled into the passenger’s seat as Kame drives them home.  
  
“Oh no. Just what you needed, medical evidence that you’re magic. I’d better hide all the spoons or we won’t have anything left to eat with.”  
  
Jin punches him on the thigh, and Kame grins.  
  
“It’s weird to think I’ve been walking around and doing stuff for like two months that I don’t remember though. Kind of makes me feel like a zombie.”  
  
“A zombie miracle?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jin laughs. “That.”  
  
Kame’s grin softens thoughtfully, and he readjusts his hands on the steering wheel to guide them toward the next exit. When Jin’s hand settles comfortably on his knee, without hesitation, Kame smiles a little more brightly again.  
  
“It’s not so bad though,” Kame says. “I mean, it’s weird, but a two-month gap in your memory is a hell of a lot better than a seven-year one, right?”  
  
Kame feels Jin looking at him. For a moment he wonders if he should explain—amnesia rules, not fair not to explain stuff—but then Jin’s hand squeezes his thigh briefly, and he remembers. Jin remembers. Jin already knows.  
  
“Sorry,” Jin says. “That must have been tough on you. I’m really sorry I put you through that.”  
  
“It’s not your fault,” Kame says quickly. But Jin knows that too. Still, Kame wants him to understand. “Anyway, it wasn’t so bad. You were still you. It wasn’t like you freaked out and became some totally different person. And even though it was awkward at first, in the end…you told me you loved me.”  
  
Jin grins widely. “I fell in love with you all over again?”  
  
“Yeah,” Kame giggles a little. “I guess so.”  
  
“Sounds like fun. Maybe I should jump off scaffoldings more often.”  
  
Kame shoots him a glare. “You better fucking not, or I won’t nurse you back to health next time.”  
  
“Heartless,” Jin pouts. “And here I always thought you were a romantic.”  
  
“Yeah, as in Harry and Sally, not Romeo and Juliet.”  
  
“There were no scaffoldings in Romeo and Juliet,” Jin points out.  
  
“But there was a balcony.”  
  
“But Juliet didn’t jump off the balcony.”  
  
“Granted,” Kame says. “I concede that you’re stupider than Juliet.”  
  
Jin blinks a bit off to the side. “Is it the head injury? I’ve forgotten what point I was trying to make.”  
  
“Something about zombie miracles, maybe?” Kame grins.  
  
Jin smiles across at him, and Kame can feel that warm gaze linger even after he turns his eyes back to the road.  
  
After a little while, he hears Jin shift restlessly in his seat, stretching his legs out underneath the glove compartment and slumping down in a manner that looks really uncomfortable to Kame, but there you go.  
  
“Are we there yet?” Jin says. His eyes are closed, and he’s smirking a little bit, catlike. “I’m hungry.”  
  
“You just ate.”  
  
“Hospital food,” Jin reminds him. “I’ve been eating hospital food for three days, Kame.”  
  
“I snuck you a Frappuccino yesterday afternoon,” Kame says.  
  
Jin wrinkles his nose. “The doctor confiscated it. I only managed half of it before he caught me. Is there any lasagna?”  
  
Kame grins. “I think so. In the freezer, maybe.”  
  
“And beer?” Jin says hopefully, cracking an eye open.  
  
Kame presses his lips together and shakes his head. “Nope. No beer.”  
  
“Doctor’s orders, right?” Jin says, with a slightly secret smirk.  
  
Kame laughs. “Yeah, doctor’s orders.”  
  
And then he blinks. Glances over at Jin, because that almost sounded…  
  
But Jin doesn’t seem to have noticed. And now he’s fiddling with the loose end of his plastic hospital bracelet, looking a little bit sleepy. Kame shrugs it off. Probably just a coincidence.  
  
Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. They’re home now.  
  
*      *      *  
  
Kame has pulled half the books off the bookshelf, emptied both of the end table drawers, hunted through half the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen, and he still can’t find the damn setlist. Not the new one, the old one, the one from the last concert series, because they have the rescheduled dates coming up and the tech guys are trying to pull everything together, and he knows his copy is around here somewhere, but he can’t find it.  
  
He yanks open the dresser drawers one after another, digging around and underneath, but of course there’s nothing there but clothes, and he nearly jars a bottle of cologne off the top when he shoves the last drawer back in again. Jin’s phone is sitting on the nightstand—he never remembers to take the damn thing with him in the mornings—and Kame walks over and picks it up, because maybe he has a scanned copy somewhere. When he swipes it open and keys in the password, he wrinkles his nose at his own face growling back at him. Unfortunately, post-amnesia Jin loved that wallpaper just as much as intra-amnesia Jin. “I can’t believe I never thought of it before,” he said gleefully when he discovered it, holding the phone up out of Kame’s reach. He really should have changed it while Jin was still in the hospital.  
  
No setlist though. He clicks off the screen and sets it back on the nightstand.  
  
Kame swipes a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp and looking around. He could probably get another copy from somebody, but his had handwritten scribbles all over it that he’s never gotten around to typing up, and it would really be—ah! Closet.  
  
He strides across the room and shoves open the closet doors, reaching for a file box tucked away at the bottom, underneath a storage bag of cold-weather clothes. It’s heavy, but it’s too dark down here to see properly, so he hefts it and turns around to set it on the foot of the bed with a slight bounce. Sliding his fingers under the edges, he lifts off the cover.  
  
And there it is.  
  
Not the setlist.  
  
He tosses the box cover down on the bed and picks up the folder lying on top of the files in the box. He lets it fall open in his hand, shuffles through the mess of brochures and sample forms, all full of medical jargon and legalese, brightened here and there with a photo of a smiling child in its parents’ arms.  
  
He picked them up more than a year ago. They’d never meant it to be right away, but at some point they had sort of started talking about options—enough that he thought maybe it would be good if they actually knew what those options might be, if only to keep the conversation in the realm of reality. (Although Jin’s idea of stealing a baby from a far-off kingdom and growing out her magical hair to give them eternal youth  _had_  sounded like fun.) The more they talked about it the more excited they got, and it started to seem like maybe this would be a sooner rather than later sort of plan.  
  
He hid them after the accident. He hid a lot of things—some of them (like the damn setlist) from himself, in the midst of his cleaning frenzy—but mainly these. At the time Kame couldn’t be sure he could even hope to have a marriage going forward, much less a kid. And it was complicated enough trying to navigate everything between them without bringing other totally theoretical complications into the picture. Besides, even in the best case scenario, it was obvious that picking up this particular conversation would have to wait for a good long time, if not forever.  
  
Then came the second surgery, and everything changed again. For the better, mostly, although Jin wasn’t crazy about being cooped up at home with no beer and no sex for a third month, even though he couldn’t actually remember the first two. But it still wasn’t the time to start talking about complicated things again. Jin needed time to recover, and they both needed time to get their professional lives back on track. And although neither of them had said as much, he knew they’d both been half waiting for the next setback. These things always come in threes.  
  
But nothing happened. Jin returned to the hospital for a new scan once a month, and every one of them came back clean. After the first few weeks he was more or less his old self, and after two months he was back at work again, singing and writing and breaking out choreography from their most recent abortive concert series like it was nothing. Kame almost broke down right in the middle of rehearsal when Jin pulled off the entire chorus routine to their last single without missing a step. He’d remembered less of it when they’d been performing the actual concerts. When Koki poked Kame in the back and told him to either keep up or move out of the way so the rest of them could finish rehearsing the number, Kame excused himself with a cough and stepped aside to hide his face in his water bottle.  
  
Kame slides one of the pamphlets out of the folder and flicks it open with a thumb, skimming words and photographs. Jin always joked that it would be a waste not to pass along at least one of their sets of genes to the next generation—but Kame has always sort of liked the idea of adopting. Giving a home to a kid who doesn’t have one.  
  
A noise somewhere outside the bedroom wakes him up, and he slips the pamphlet back into the folder and lets it fall closed again.  It’s still not the time. They’re both too busy, and even though it’s been six months since anything’s happened, they’re still getting past it. Just savoring the normalcy for a while, appreciating what they’ve got. What they almost lost.  
  
Kame hears Jin’s footsteps in the hall and shoves the folder underneath the box. He bends over to start hunting through the files just as the door opens.  
  
“Hey,” Jin says, tugging his sweaty t-shirt off over his head and tossing it in the hamper. He’s been on a morning run kick lately, which Kame secretly finds a bit odd, considering it’s Jin—not that he’s inclined to discourage this attempt to become a morning person, by any means. He figures maybe three solid months of forced rest and relaxation have finally cured Jin of his lifelong addiction to sleep. Or maybe he’s just feeling a bit self-conscious about the fragility of his own body in the wake of two surgeries and a bout of amnesia—but Kame likes the first explanation better.  
  
“Hey,” Kame says, tossing him a smile over the file box. “Do you have any idea what happened to my copy of the setlist?”  
  
Jin frowns, scratching at his damp hair and tugging it out of its little ponytail. “What setlist?”  
  
“For the concerts. I had one with a bunch of notes written all over it.”  
  
Jin shakes his head, glancing around the room as if he might find it sitting out somewhere.  
  
“Nevermind,” Kame says. “If you want to catch a shower before we leave, you’d better hop in.”  
  
“Right,” Jin says, peeling off his socks on the way to the bathroom.  
  
Kame keeps his face over the box until he hears the shower running, though he’s not really looking for the setlist anymore. Checking over his shoulder to make sure the bathroom door is closed, he slides the folder out from under the box again and looks at the cover one more time. Then he glances around the room until he settles on his nightstand, crosses over and pulls out the top drawer. He slips the folder in underneath a book and his spare glasses. Not hidden anymore—just waiting.  
  
They’ve cleared two weeks on the schedule in the fall for the promised trip to Paris, between the end of the rescheduled concerts and the beginning of Kame’s winter drama. Maybe then.  
  
*      *      *  
  
“It’s a good song,” Jin says as Kame lets them into the apartment. He reaches over and flips on the light while Kame closes the door behind them and steps out of his shoes. “It sounds great the way it is, and the blocking works—why would you want to mess with it?”  
  
Kame winces a bit as he steps onto the wood floor, moving gingerly for the first few steps toward the kitchen. Eight hours of rehearsal, and he’s barely sat down since seven this morning. Maybe he should buy himself some orthopedic house slippers. “It’s not that it doesn’t work,” he says as Jin strides past him, making a beeline for the refrigerator. “It’s just nice to change things up sometimes.”  
  
“But why?” Jin presses, his upper half hidden by the door as he digs around in the shelves.  
  
Kame leans back against the counter with a sigh, curling his toes against the floor to stretch out his right ankle. He reaches for the three-day stack of mail at the corner and starts shuffling through it, tossing the first two items straight into the recycling. Credit card ads.  
  
“I just don’t like it, okay?” he mumbles. He wishes Jin would drop it. He’s sorry he brought it up in the first place at this point. It’s been a long day.  
  
“What don’t you like about it?” Jin says, unstacking a bunch of plastic containers onto the center island. “It looks cool, it’s not hard, and we don’t have to actually memorize any choreography when we’re up on those—”  
  
When Jin stops talking, Kame presses his lips together and stares really hard at the paper in his hands, which is trying to sell him refinancing for the mortgage he doesn’t have.  
  
He hears Jin walk over to stand in front of him. When Kame doesn’t acknowledge him, Jin plucks the paper out of his hands. Finally Kame peers up at him reluctantly. Yeah. Jin may be a Bakanishi, but he’s not stupid.  
  
“You know I was kidding when I said I had plans to keep jumping off scaffoldings, right?”  
  
Kame folds his arms over his chest and gives him a look. “You know that’s not the point.”  
  
“I think it is, though,” Jin says, tossing the paper onto the counter behind Kame. “Look, it’s really sweet and all that you’re worried about me—I like that you worry about me. But you know what? Cut it out. I’m an adult. You can’t protect me from everything forever.”  
  
“I’m not trying to protect you from everything—I just don’t see any point in you taking unnecessary risks.”  
  
“Oh, and you doing backflips and pirouettes on cables thirty feet above the stage? That’s not an unnecessary risk?”  
  
“That’s different.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Because that’s  _me_ , okay?” he snaps.  
  
When Jin just stares at him, looking slightly stung, Kame sighs. Long day. Really long day. Words are tough after a long day, especially when they matter.  
  
“That…I didn’t mean that how it sounds,” Kame says, resting the heel of his hand against the edge of the counter. “I’m not saying you’re not capable. You’re great at what you do, and I have complete faith in your abilities. But after everything…” His voice hitches, and he clears his throat. Better stick to the point.  
  
“Bad things can happen,” he says. “Bad things did happen. And I know you’re better now, but that doesn’t mean they can’t happen again, and if anything ever…if anything ever happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do. Okay? You matter to me. You matter to me more than me.”  
  
Jin glances away toward the window over the sink, and the tension slides from his shoulders, his mouth all pressed together like he’s trying to decide whether he wants to be stern or smile. In the end he reaches out and just wraps his arms around Kame. Kame leaves the stack of mail on the counter and loops his arms around Jin, pulling him close and tucking his chin against the worn, stretched out neck of Jin’s t-shirt.  
  
“Bad things can happen to anybody anywhere, Kame,” Jin says. “Not just me, and not just on a stage with thousands of people watching. I could get hit by a truck crossing the street tomorrow.”  
  
“But—”  
  
“I’m fine,” Jin says, squeezing gently, keeping him quiet. “I’m really fine, Kame. I’m taking care of myself. The doctors are keeping an eye on me. We’re doing everything we can, and the only other thing we can do now is just keep living, like we always have. I’m not going to stop doing stuff just because one time out of a thousand it turned out badly.”  
  
He eases back a little, just far enough to look Kame in the eye. “And by the way,” he says, kissing him on the forehead, “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you either. So cut it out with that ‘I matter more than you’ shit. You matter to me too.”  
  
Kame sneaks up and kisses him on the lips. He only means it to be a peck, but it lingers slightly longer than intended. “Sap,” he accuses when he settles back again.  
  
“Might want to take the plank out of your eye before you start throwing words like that around,” Jin teases, though he kisses Kame once more just the same.  
  
When Jin steps away again, returning to the stack of containers he pulled out of the fridge, Kame picks up the mail again and keeps shuffling through. He’s making a small pile of things addressed only to Jin, though he takes the liberty of throwing out an ad for lawn care services without asking. He’s pretty sure Jin won’t mind. Unless he’s started a rooftop garden that Kame doesn’t know about.  
  
“You want any of this?” Jin asks, holding out an open container. Kame glances up from a letter from his aunt in Fukuoka, peering over at the half-empty container of leftover noodles.  
  
He shakes his head, returning to the letter. “Nah, I had enough at the rehearsal.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Jin says suspiciously. “You need to make sure you eat. I don’t want to end up sleeping with Edward Scissor-elbows.”  
  
Kame raises an eyebrow at him as he slides a finger underneath the flap of the next envelope. “Now who’s being overprotective?”  
  
“I’m just saying…”  
  
“Tell you what, I’ll eat whatever you want right this minute if you agree never to set foot on a scaffolding again.”  
  
Jin pouts. “That’s not even close to being an even trade.”  
  
Kame grins and shakes out the next letter with a flourish. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. Don’t eat that pork, by the way,” he gestures at the labeled container as Jin is reaching to pick it up. “I’ve been meaning to throw it out.”  
  
“You give up on these things so quickly.”  
  
“It’s like two weeks old, Jin,” Kame says. But Jin is already dutifully dumping the pork into the trash and rinsing out the container in the sink.  
  
Kame looks down at the paper in his hands, skimming rows of numbers and stuff he doesn’t particularly understand, until he gets to the bottom and winces. That’s a lot of zeros.  
  
“What?” Jin asks. He’s stacking up the remaining containers and returning them to the fridge while his food turns slowly in the microwave.  
  
“Hm?” Kame looks up, then shakes his head and turns back to the paper. “Nothing—just another medical bill.”  
  
“Is it bad?”  
  
“Not great,” Kame says with a wry smile. “Most of it’s covered, but…let’s just say I think I’ll pass on that bag I saw in Ginza the other day. You’d better not get tuberculosis or something next or we’ll never break even.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
Kame’s smile turns clear, and he folds the bill away, putting it in the stack of things to be dealt with later. “I’m not. I like you much better than any bag.”  
  
“Thanks,” Jin says with smile, and then a blinky frown. “I think…”  
  
After he finishes with the mail, Kame wanders into the bedroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. He plucks at his dark hair a little bit in the mirror, the way it sticks out in odd directions after being pulled and tucked out of the way all day. He still sort of misses the red sometimes. Maybe he’ll go back to that for a while someday, when there’s time to deal with it. Maybe after the drama. After Paris.  
  
When Jin has finished with his late-night snack, he nudges his way into the bathroom and Kame moves aside to let him have the sink. He takes off his t-shirt and jeans and drops them in the hamper, then crawls under the covers. There’s nothing like the feeling of finally lying down after a really long day of doing anything but.  
  
He curls up on his side with his eyes closed, just listening to the water running in the sink and Jin’s socked feet against the floorboards. He opens his eyes again when he hears Jin over at his side of the bed and watches as he slips his cell out of his pocket and puts it on the nightstand. Turns off his alarm, because tomorrow is Saturday, and even new-health-kick-Jin sleeps in on Saturdays. He reaches for the fly of his jeans as he walks away again, and then a few minutes later he’s back. The light goes out, and the mattress bounces a little as he slides under the covers. Kame shifts over and meets him in the middle of the mattress, sighing as they sort out limbs with a minimum of trouble and relax against each other.  
  
Kame’s cheek is pressed against Jin’s soft, threadbare t-shirt, and he closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He’s exhausted, and he feels like he’s been waiting for this all day, but now that he’s actually lying down he can feel the unwelcome echo of artificial energy crawling around just beneath his skin.  
  
“I drank too much coffee,” he mumbles. “I’ll be lucky if I fall asleep before 3 a.m.”  
  
“Want me to sing you a lullaby?” Jin grins.  
  
“God no,” he groans. “No more music, please. Do you realize we sang X-TATIC seventeen times this afternoon?”  
  
Jin shakes his head on a yawn. “I lost count at twelve.”  
  
“Was that the one where Koki threw his shoe at Junno for fucking up the verse again?”  
  
“No, that was the next one.”  
  
“Oh, yeah,” Kame nods, and he feels himself settling a little more. Just being here helps. Just the two of them in the dark, no more music or mail or arguments over blocking and balancing harmonies. Just Jin and Kame and their apartment. He finds Jin’s left hand resting against his stomach underneath the covers and runs a fingertip over the smooth metal band around his third finger. It still makes him smile just to know that it’s there.  
  
“You could tell me a story though,” Kame says.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
He smiles when Jin’s hand shifts from Kame’s shoulder to the back of his head, his fingertips drawing idly through Kame’s hair. “To put me to sleep.”  
  
Jin chuckles, and he feels it against his cheek. “Yeah, okay. What do you want, Peter Pan or Sleeping Beauty?”  
  
Kame shrugs his shoulders and snuggles closer, sliding one leg over Jin’s because he knows Jin’s feet get cold when the A/C is on high, and he’s got warmth to spare, especially now that he’s been under the covers for a while. “You pick.”  
  
“Okay,” Jin murmurs. His hand pauses on Kame’s hair for a bit as he thinks. “Once upon a time,” he says, and his fingers resume stroking again, “there lived a turtle and a rabbit…”  
  
Kame chuckles sleepily. “I don’t remember that from Sleeping Beauty.”  
  
“Artistic license,” Jin says, with a scolding tug. “Now hush. You’re supposed to be falling asleep.”  
  
Kame nods and smiles, lapsing into obedient silence.  
  
“The turtle was very clever, but he was also bossy and demanding and he worked himself too hard,” Jin says into the cozy darkness. “The rabbit was a little bit less clever, but still really nice, even though he could be selfish and impulsive sometimes, and had an unfortunate tendency to fall off tall spikey scaffoldings and give himself head injuries. The turtle and the rabbit fought a lot, but they really loved each other deep down. When the turtle asked the rabbit to marry him, the rabbit said yes without a second thought.”  
  
Kame turns his face just slightly into Jin’s chest and kisses him through his shirt. “I like this story,” he murmurs. Jin’s fingertips skim along the nape of his neck just below his hairline, and it would almost make him shiver if he weren’t so warm and comfortable.  
  
“One day,” Jin continues, “after sustaining a brave and valiant injury that had nothing to do with him forgetting to double-check the latch on the safety equipment, the rabbit woke up with amnesia. He had forgotten all about the turtle and what they meant to each other. The turtle was very sad, but he took the rabbit home and cared for him anyway, just like nothing had changed.”  
  
Kame’s hand has found its way up underneath the hem of Jin’s shirt, stroking gently over his torso. The pad of his thumb brushes across the scar on Jin’s side, and he can just barely feel the light groove of healed skin curving toward his hip.  
  
“Then, just when they thought he was going to be okay, the rabbit collapsed and had to go back to the hospital,” Jin says, twirling a lock of Kame’s hair around one of his fingers. “And although the turtle was delighted to find that the rabbit’s memory had mysteriously returned, he was slightly less delighted to have to put his life on hold for another month and nurse the rabbit back to health all over again. But he did it anyway, and he never complained—even when he had to go back to work twice as hard afterwards to make up for their lost income while the rabbit was still lying around the house recuperating, and forgo buying really weird, massively expensive accessories in order to pay off all those pesky medical bills.”  
  
When Jin doesn’t continue, Kame lifts his head and gives him a slight smile. “And?” he says, brushing his thumb gently over the scar again. “How does the story end?”  
  
Jin smiles. “The rabbit says thank you,” he says, leaning forward to kiss Kame softly on the lips. “He promises that he would do the same thing if the turtle ever fell off a spikey scaffolding, although he doesn’t recommend it because it’s not a good experience. And the rabbit would be worried. And the rabbit’s cooking sucks, so really they’d both be lucky just to survive it.”  
  
Kame giggles. “And?”  
  
“And…they live happily ever after,” Jin replies.  
  
Kame tilts his head a little to the side, thinking of conversations tucked away in his nightstand, underneath his spare glasses. Of Paris, and home again, and all the years that neither of them can remember yet.  
  
“Just the two of them?”  
  
Jin’s smile turns into a grin.  
  
“For now.”


End file.
